Mixing Beastblood
by LoorTheDarkElf
Summary: Di'kana has been accepted into the Companions, but now must choose between her new life as a warrior in Whiterun, or the life she lost when she came to Skyrim. FarkasxKhajiit Dragonborn, rated M for violence, mild sexual content, and descriptions of gore. Sequel to 'The Kitten and The Wolf'
1. News From Abroad

**Author's Notes:**

 **Holy piss, has this been forever and a half.**

I am sorry for everyone I left waiting on _The Kitten and The Wolf._ It was an unfair amount of time to wait, but then again, you are reading this for free... so, here we are. A year and some later, but we're FINALLY continuing the story. I hope you all enjoy this new installment of this series, and if you are just finding it for the first time, might I direct you to seek out the first story for some FarkasxKhajiit Dragonborn goodness.

 **I don't own Skyrim**

* * *

 **Mixing Beastblood  
** **Chapter One – News from Abroad**

There was something about a rhythm of work that pleased Di'kana, soothed her, to the point that the world around her seemed to simply vanish. In the rise and fall of an ax, the splitting of logs and the setting of fresh ones, she could toil away for hours without complaint. It was a task in which she could be wholly self-involved, aware only of her breathing, the ax in her hands, and the feel of her body as muscles of her core and arms worked together to heft and chop, over and over and over again.

When there was no one to train with, this was how she wiled away the time. She'd start her day chopping the wood for Jorrvaskr's ever burning fire, ensuring there was no shortage of logs for the wide-open pit that warmed the hall and roasted their meat. Then, when there was not a log left whole, she went on to the Bannered Mare to do the same. She requested no coin for the service; it was a way to build up her strength after she'd spent so long letting her ribs heal, waiting until stabbing pain turned to lingering soreness and it was time to build her strength back up to where it had been before. It was her rehabilitation, swinging a wood-chopping ax in place of her war hammer, and doing it every day.

Standing just outside the Bannered Mare, she found herself learning more about Whiterun. Before, she'd mostly known it through the merchants she interacted with. She knew the alchemy shop, though she failed to remember the proprietress's name. There was the general goods store, the woman who ran the produce stand- but when she was standing there, day in, day out, chopping wood until there was no wood left to chop, she realized there was more to Whiterun than those select places. There were arguments between neighbors, and children at play. There were traders, yes, but also friends, and families, living their lives one day at a time. Every now and again, she'd see one of these people look up at her where she split her logs. She would smile, but she wondered if they recognized the expression on her feline face... the only ones who approached to speak to her, after all this time, were the children.

"What are you doing?"

"Why are you doing it?"

"Do you want to play with us?"

She'd explained as well as she could, and though they thought she talked funny, there was understanding in her task. Nord children understood the hard work it took to become a warrior, after all. As for _play..._ perchance, once or twice, she'd abandoned her ax to entertain a game of hide and seek. These kits likely didn't realize it, but she herself was maybe only six or seven summers older than them, and she still enjoyed these games... and it gave her a chance to teach the young and less prejudiced how to sneak without being accused of being a thief.

For weeks, swinging the ax, watching the people, entertaining the children, this was her recovery. There were other things in-between; training with Aela and Vilkas when they had the time. Even Skjor, who appeared so hard-bitten and stern, took the time to coach her through her injury and support her healing. Lydia dropped by from time to time, too, though mostly to talk and listen, and ensure her Thane was not losing her mind with boredom.

Of course, there was one other who'd been looking after her as well.

"Are you going to go and chop down all the trees when they finally run out of logs for you to split?"

A rough and teasing voice brought her ears to perk, and her head to follow shortly after. The smile that appeared was undeniable, one that made her bright blue eyes squint for it's breadth across her face. "This one thinks that shall not be necessary. There is no fatigue with this task anymore."

Farkas was making his way up the steps, over to where she'd been splitting logs. As always, he was fully dressed in his armor, but the _smell_ of him hinted that he'd just returned from some job or another. Sweat, blood, the salty scent of travel food like jerky and dry, crusty bread. Every time he was sent off to do work for the Companions, whether he was gone for hours or days, he always did this- he always came to see her _first,_ no matter where she was. Before he removed his armor for cleaning and repair, before he even stopped to polish and oil his blade, he was here, checking in on her.

"Then maybe it's about time they give you your warhammer back." Farkas smirked.

"Vilkas says soon." She nodded, abandoning her spot and coming to meet him, though not as she would have liked. Internally, there was a desire to embrace him, to reach out and clutch him to herself as if he were more dear to her than life- but she did not.

No, not where so many eyes might see.

"Where did you go this time?"

"All the way to Riften; bandits snatched a kid up off of the road, parents paid a hefty sum to get him back. Only had to crack a few skulls before the group gave the kid up- less of a challenge than I wanted, really."

" _Tch,_ you were _bored?_ Next time, you stay and split logs and this one will go kill child-snatchers."

"Maybe _next time_ we can go _together?"_ While his words were simple, his smile suggested an escape from the prying eyes of the crowd. Skyrim, after all, had such grand expanses of wilderness where they would be beyond anonymous... not that _he_ minded. He feared no judgment. It was _Di'kana_ that had demanded discretion, unsure of whether it was right for others to know that they were together.

The mere thought made her purr, trying to cover it with a chuckle. "Maybe so... you should head on. Report in."

"Trying to get rid of me?" _Teasing,_ always teasing her, and yet it made her feel warm rather than annoyed... as well as regretful that she was still afraid to be more open.

"No, but-"

"Di'kana?"

Another voice broke it's way in, making the Khajiit girl look up. Standing on the steps to the Bannered Mare, one of the Whiterun guards stood, addressing her and causing Farkas to step back and clear the line of sight.

"Yes?" She responded, stepping forward, ears perked in curiosity, head cocked slightly. "Is something wrong?" She couldn't think of anything she'd done of late that would upset the guards or give them reason to speak to her. When within Whiterun, she made sure to take particular care to be polite to the guards and observe the law to it's most technical letter. She was Thanehere, after all. To her, that meant conducting herself properly, as she thought it was right to do... even if certain Khajiit would have found her odd for observing _rules_ so closely.

"There's a caravan Khajiit requesting to come into the city to see you. He says it's urgent. We usually don't let them in, but if you vouch for him..."

"Ri'saad?"

Di'kana quested after the Khajiit's name, her expression changing in an instant. She went from curious to intent, eyes wide and her shoulders tensed, as if she were about to pounce upon something.

"Yes, Thane."

"Yes, please. Guide him to this one's home, please, and tell him he will be met soon with all hospitality." As she spoke, she took a few gold pieces from a pouch in her tunic, approaching the guard and pressing them into his hand. "Treat him kindly, he is this one's most esteemed guest."

"Ah- y-yes, miss." The guard seemed confused, unsure if the money that had just been pressed into his palm was a bribe or a tip or just _gratitude_ born of excitement. All the same, her words sent him on his way rather hastily, and left her to stand there, tail twitching with hardly-contained energy. Again, her expression changed. What had been shocked, surprised, turned inward to musing thought. Ears twitched back and forth as lips pursed together, her pink nose working as if the air itself might contain answers for her.

"What was _that_ about?" Farkas asked, staring after the guard and then looking to the young Khajiit girl.

Di'kana did not answer right away, still thinking, right ear flicking as her arms crossed over her chest a moment. Hesitation lasted a few seconds longer, and then she looked to him.

"This one's... _my... my family."_

The words carried shock. She had trouble believing it, but still, the counter had happened. Farkas had seen the guard as well, heard him. She'd not given gold coins to empty air, after all. No, no, he'd come and go, and Ri'saad would be heading for her home all too soon.

"You said you got separated from your family."

"Near three seasons ago." She agreed, nodding. "We were traveling Cyrodil's borderlands, on our way to Hammerfell. Not our usual route, but father had agreed to transport special goods to another caravan working in that area. Originally, this one was to be left behind, with the sword master, to train until their return- this one was still too raw to be a caravan guard... then the sword master agreed to come along, travel with us, protect the goods. _Better training on the road._ This one would learn to walk with armor, build up strength, endurance. Then..."

She quieted. She'd told Farkas before, how she'd ended up lost. She'd fallen behind picking up alchemy ingredients, plucking mountain flowers along Skyrim's border. In her haste to catch up with the group, she'd taken the wrong road and run into a border patrol... that had been waiting for Ulfric Stormcloak. All in a horrifying moment she, Ulfric, a follower of him, and some hapless horse thief had all been snapped up by the Imperial garrison and carted off for execution.

Said execution had been interrupted by a dragon before she met her end on the headsman's block, but the memory of the ax still came back to her now and again in nightmares.

"This one asked Ri'saad send messages, to find out where my family went. If they searched for Di'kana, entered Skyrim, or not. To seek this one out if he heard anything."

" _Asked?"_

"With appropriate compensation, of course."

"Of course..." Farkas nodded slowly. "So he's here, asking for you, that must mean he heard something. You should be happy, right?"

"... this one does not know if she wants to hear what was heard." She admitted. "What if it is bad?"

"Then you'll know the truth and you can stop guessing." Farkas's words were blunt, but honest. She looked to him, still unsure, but nodded slightly. He was right. Good or bad, whatever came, it would be her first news after nearly a year of living in Skyrim. Whatever it was, she would rather _know_ than _not._

"... _will you come with me?"_

It was a quick question, asked in a quiet voice that didn't want to admit she was afraid. She knew he had to report in, that he had things to do, but she suddenly felt as if walking down the hill to her house was far too difficult.

He didn't seem to understand _why_ she'd ask for that. He gave her a look, confused and questioning, brow knitting together before he found himself with a befuddled smile. Approaching her, he put a hand on her shoulder. "If you want it, I'm there... donno what you want me to _do,_ though."

"Be there." She muttered. It made little sense, but she wanted it. A silent support, maybe; she simply knew she'd feel better if he was there with her.

"Then let's go, kitten. Sounded like this was _urgent."_

* * *

To call Lydia surprised when her mistress suddenly entered the house would be an understatement of massive proportions. Di'kana, after all, had been spending her nights at Jorrvaskr since being accepted among the Companions, leaving the Housecarl to her duties of simply keeping her mistress's home until she returned, be that in months or _years._ However, surprised did not mean _displeased-_ instead, she found herself with a smile as the young Khajiit woman let her self in, pushing the door wide and followed immediately after by a large man- Farkas. Lydia recognized him from the last time he'd been here. The circumstances had been much more _dire_ then, Di'kana unconscious, carried upon his back after she'd passed out from exhaustion and pain.

It was good to see them both enter under their own power, but Di'kana was upset. Ears flicking, tail twitching, her eyes going this way and that in anxiety and agitation. Lydia abandoned her current task of hanging herbs from the rafters to dry, and quickly snapped to attention. "My Thane- what can I do for you?"

"Whatever is in the larder, Lydia, bring out our best and freshest. Quickly." Di'kana responded in an instant. "Do we still have the mulled wine this one bought in Solitude?"

"Ah- yes, of course. May I ask the occasion?" She glanced between Farkas and Di'kana, expecting some kind of announcement _._

"Ri'saad has news, he is coming." Di'kana answered, dashing whatever image that Lydia had been building in her mind and making the woman's face flicker with confusion before surprise took over, realizing what this meant. Unlike Farkas, she was much more informed on the meaning of Ri'saad's visit.

"I will prepare the welcome, you may decide to change."

Di'kana looked at her rather common tunic before swearing softly; Lydia was right. Her clothes smelled of _work,_ hard labor. Not that Ri'saad cared for her presentation, but if any news passed through the caravans, she wanted the word to be of how she was doing well for herself. If, by some incredible chance, her family heard of her, she wanted them to hear that she was thriving and generous to her friends, that she had taken to her adult life with finesse and grace.

The question was, did she have the time to change into clean clothes? She glanced to Farkas, who appeared helpless. She shook her head, heading upstairs and taking them two at a time, leaving the man standing there and utterly lost on what to say or do. After a few seconds, he decided the safer route was to follow after Lydia, and see if he could be of any help in the food and drink department. When it came to coverings, if it wasn't armor, he didn't know much about it... _food_ on the other hand? That, he could handle, and he _did_ want to help.

Why she was rolling out the red carpet for some merchant, he'd learn later. For now, there was busy-work of bringing out good cheese and fresh bread, fresh fruits and spiced, dried meats, particularly fish _._ Spiced wine was poured, and Lydia made the two seats before the fire ready for her mistress and the coming guest. When Farkas offered his hands in assistance, he was quickly charged with re-arranging a small table in the corner to sit between those chairs, so it could be loaded with food and drink that would be close at hand during whatever discussion was about to occur.

It appeared that Di'kana, despite accepting that she might never see her family again, had been keeping her home ready for this moment for quite some time. A lingering hope, however unlikely, that she'd prepared for.

By the time she returned downstairs, everything had been made ready. Lydia stood at the ready behind it all, in case her mistress had any last-second corrections that needed to be attended to. Farkas had been on the verge of heading upstairs to see if she needed any help, and instead was the first to see her as she descended the stairs.

Eyes widened a little upon viewing her. She'd traded her common tunic for fine blue robes that protected from the cold and accented the intense color of her eyes. Her tail, which might have been constrained by such a thing, had instead found its way through a specially made hole in the garment, freely swaying back and forth with her gait. Upon her head, a circlet of silver and sapphire rested. The long silver hair on her head was allowed to tumble loose, rather than braid it was usually contained within, and forming waves about her shoulders. For maybe the first time, the amulet around her neck was displayed freely, simply another part of the outfit she wore that made her look like a lady of the realm instead of a warrior.

Farkas wasn't sure how he felt about that, but there was no denying that she was _beautiful._ He stepped aside as she came down the stairs, and looked over what Lydia had done. She gave a nod of approval, and none too soon- there was a knock at the door.

"Lydia, Farkas- conduct yourselves as friends. Ri'saad should not think you servants."

"What does _that_ mean?" Farkas quested as she went to answer the door.

"It means _eat."_ Lydia answered, turning herself to the table towards the back of the room that was also set with food- something Farkas hadn't noticed in the rush to prepare the living room. However, as Lydia seated herself on the bench and began to help herself to some of the spiced wine that had been brought out, he opted to stand instead after taking a hunk of bread into his hand.

The door opened upon another Khajiit- a male who stood maybe six or seven inches taller than Di'kana, with fluffy fur about his face that seemed like a half-formed mane, kept groomed and trimmed like a humanoid man would keep a beard. He was a mix of colors from creamy white to brown and black, with dark eyes that smiled upon Di'kana greeting him at the door... though she used no words that Farkas knew. No, they were speaking in their native tongue, it seemed, while Di'kana motioned him in and he passed over the threshold with a gracious bow of his head.

This was Ri'saad. Farkas had met him a few times; a trader that made camp outside of the walls because his caravan wasn't allowed inside. Good prices, if a little _too_ polite. He was the kind of friendly that made people suspicious.

The pair of cats took their seats, sharing a dense conversation the moment the door was shut behind Ri'saad's tail. They might have looked like a pair of merchants, Ri'saad's robes no less fine than Di'kana's, similarly decorated in a way that suggested at least modest wealth. Watching them, Farkas found himself noticing _layers_ of expression. There were facial expressions, but there was also hand gestures, flicks of ears, motions of tails, even twitches of noses. To see a pair of Khajiit, speaking their mother tongue, was something that made him realize there was a great deal more to language than just _words._ Ri'saad was unfamiliar to him, hard to read, but he knew Di'kana to an extent. He could see when she was curious, when her ears perked forward and the tip of her tail twitched, when she emphasized a request with a push of her palms at the air and a pleading openness of her eyes. From her, he could understand some tiny sliver of this exchange... and it worried him.

Di'kana had been hopeful, at first. Ears up, eyes wide. Within a few moments, however, her ears fell. They didn't flatten to her head like they did when she was angry, instead they simply slumped to the sides, upset and shocked. Ri'saad appeared to be trying to comfort her, but it looked to be having little effect, his words serving only to distress her more as he took a mug of the offered wine.

 _Then_ her ears flattened to her head, and became angry. Her brow furrowed, and her tail fluffed. In this portion of the exchange, Farkas understood one word.

 _Skooma._

When she angered, he found himself tensing. Ready to act if she decided Ri'saad was no longer welcome.

It didn't come to that, though. Her ears perked again, and what might have sunken into growling became a renewed enthusiasm. As they spoke at length, Ri'saad reached out, and put a hand over hers- reassurance? Possible. It looked like an uncle trying to calm a niece, or similar familial comfort. There was a faint sense of a culture that Di'kana _could_ have been a part of, had she chosen it.

Farkas wondered why she hadn't. She'd been trained as a caravan guard- why hadn't she just taken up arms for some other Khajiit caravan? From the way Ri'saad reached out to her, it appeared that he would have welcomed her. Why had she sought family among a people who, more often than not, misjudged her kind?

Things he would have to ask her, another time. For the moment, their conversation continued, and Farkas finally had a seat by Lydia. A tankard of that spiced wine would help pass the time as the two cats discussed their business over cheese and smoked meats and what had to be at least a whole bottle of the mulled wine by the time they were done. Nearing what Farkas sensed to be the end, a pouch of coin was passed from Di'kana to Ri'saad, one he peered into for a moment before nodding, showing that whatever she'd given him was acceptable. Then the pair of them stood, and she showed him to the door, bidding him goodbye in their own language.

When the door closed behind him, Di'kana's ears fell along with her head, slumped down before her shoulders while her body leaned upon the door. As if she were suddenly too heavy to support herself, she languished there for several moments, eyes closed and her limbs left hanging like vines from a tree.

" _That_ bad, huh?" Farkas was the first to break the silence.

"... not terrible. Not great." Di'kana reported with a long sigh, rubbing her head against the door. If she didn't feel so exhaust, she might have _beat_ her skull against the timbers, but that wasn't the case. No, she felt _tired,_ so incredibly _tired._

"What did he say?" Lydia quested, standing up from the table and showing that she'd understood nothing of the conversation either.

"Ri'saad reached out as this one asked, sent messages along the other caravans that he wanted information about anyone who had lost a kit in Cyrodil. Word has come back that there _is_ a caravan at the Skyrim border, trying to cross to search for a lost child, but the border guards are not allowing it... rumor claims it is because they were found with skooma in their cargo."

"... I don't understand. This sounds like your group, doesn't it? Isn't this _good?"_ Farkas asked.

" _My family does not deal in skooma!"_ She spat viciously, coming alive from where she'd laid her head heavily upon the door. "No skooma, no moonsugar, father never allowed it, no matter how much was offered! _No_ drugs, _no_ thieving- it... it _can't_ be them."

All at once, her anger gave way to despair. Bristled tail and flattened ears couldn't hold, instead collapsing against the timbers of the wall once more like the whole of Tamriel sat upon her shoulders. Nose turned up towards the rafters, staring up and away from her shield-brother and her Housecarl.

"What if it is?" Lydia prodded.

"Father wouldn't. He forbade even talking about it. Mother, too. She was addicted when she was younger, before this one was born. It made her weak... it is why this one is an only-child. Mother was not strong enough to have another."

"You said your father was moving _special cargo_ for a friend." Farkas pointed out. "Did you know what it was?"

"No." Her response was stiff. Short. Not wanting to think about it. The idea that her family would even touch such things, that they'd still be carrying it- _no, no, no-_

"... I asked Ri'saad to try to get more information." She finally said after much deliberation. "Either he will confirm, or disprove. Until then, there is nothing to be done."

"Nothing?" Lydia quested, uncomfortable with the idea that all they could do was _wait._

"Not quite _nothing."_ Farkas disagreed, finding himself with an out-of-place smile. It was sudden, sure that it would come as unexpected to Di'kana. It got her to look away from the ceiling and to him, questioning him from the pit of her misery.

"We can get you back to _work."_


	2. Celebrated Return

**Author's Notes:**

New updates, two days in a row? It's a fucking miracle.

Thank you all for all the story follows and faves. It's wonderful to come back to so much support.

 **I don't own Skyrim.**

* * *

 **Mixing Beastblood  
** **Chapter Two – Celebrated Return**

It was early evening before Di'kana emerged from her home, though it was lacking in energy when she did. Her usual posture was lowered to the ground, her troubles a yolk about her neck and her worries great weights that hung from her shoulders. Even her tail all but drug upon the ground for how it sagged behind her, her gait a slow one that meant to return her to Jorrvaskr at twilight, but would be lucky to get her there before moon-rise at the pace she was going. There were other people, other inhabitants of the city, who passed her by and seemed to notice that her condition was different than usual, but none took the time to speak to her. Many looked, stared a few seconds more than normal, and then quickly glanced away before eye contact could be made.

It was a cold reminder. In this city, she was alone. Even the children she played with would eventually grow up and be like the Nord adults who raised them; wary of anyone who did not look and believe as they did. Even as the woman who had slain a dragon for this city, she was still _other,_ still an individual none of them truly desired to engage with, and an uncomfortable truth that one of their legends had come to life in a race that wasn't their own.

 _Resentment_ ran through her. A bitter taste on the back of the tongue that made her want to spit. Perchance, if Farkas were with her, he'd be able to chase it away. She'd at least be pleasingly distracted by him, but he had taken leave of her shortly after Ri'saad's visit, reporting back to the Companions as he should have when he first got back to Whiterun.

Why was she still here? Why _not_ go chasing after this rumor, though rumor it was? It was still _something,_ a clue back to her people, her _family._ So what if the Thalmor closed the border to keep possible rebels from fleeing Skyrim? There were ways to sneak out. Or _fight,_ if she had to. She could kill a dragon, a few elves couldn't be _that_ difficult, could they?

"Di'kana, there you are."

She blinked, addressed, and looked up from where her eyes had been looking down at her feet. Before her, on the road, was Vilkas; Farkas's twin brother. She stared at him, unsure of herself or what to say. The first words that came to mind were not in the common tongue, nor were they very polite, but she stole the beat of silence to gain her bearings and let the pink of her tongue dash out and wet the inside of her lips before speaking. "Here this one is." She responded, the silver lines above her eyes coming together as her brow knit. "Need something?"

"I was wondering if you were feeling up to a bout with me."

Her head cocked slightly to the side, an ear flicking as she considered it. Part of her would have relished a fight right now, but she didn't dare hope for that much. "This one is not in the mood for training, Vilkas."

"Not training." Vilkas countered with a smart shake of his head. "A real bout, kit... assuming you're strong enough to handle the weight of your armor again?"

Just like that, her head lifted. Rose up taller as her ears faced forward and stared at him, trying to ensure she was understanding him properly. "You're letting this one have her armor back?"

"It's on your bunk down in the living quarters- Eorlund fixed it up for you, and I polished it personally this morning. Go on, get dressed, and meet me in the yard. You'll find that hunk of a warhammer under your bed."

Any words that she might have used escaped her entirely, but they were not needed. A short, feline squeak came from between her lips that might have sounded like an excitable house cat before she took off past him, sprinting the rest of the way up the hill. All at once, the weight of her worries had dissolved, her mind focused not on what she _was_ in the past, but what she'd _become._ Despite being injured, despite having to spend more than a month recovering, she _did_ have something here in Whiterun that was cherished and special to her.

She had the Companions... and they were a precious family if she ever knew one.

* * *

"How do you think she'll do?"

"She's thrashed him before, I expect she's got a decent chance."

"I'll bet a handful of septims that she'll bare him to the ground before the sun finishes setting."

"Betting against your own brother? That's cold, Farkas."

"I know her, Aela. If she can knock _me_ down, Vilkas will be lucky to keep his feet."

"Stop chattering like whelps- she'll notice we're up here."

Aela and Farkas glanced away from their idle chatter when Skjor scolded them, the pair of them shaking their heads but going quiet. With the sun going down, the chill was setting in that was only kept mildly at bay but the heat of the Skyforge at their backs. The three of them were lined up on the ridge that overlooked the yard at the back of Jorrvaskr, in hopes of being out of sight and unnoticed as they viewed the fight that was about to take place between Di'kana and Vilkas. Also present with them was one other; Kodlak. Between the four of them, and Vilkas down below, the whole of the Circle was here to witness this.

Tonight, judgment would be made on whether or not Di'kana was able to take up her weapon again and truly run with the Companions. This bout with Vilkas was a test to see if she was recovered after having her ribs cracked, first by a dwarven centurion and second by the broad side of a draugr's ax. If Kodlak and the rest of the Circle agreed that she was indeed ready, they were all here to accept her formally through the initiation ceremony that would have occurred the night she'd completed her original trial, had she not collapsed from exhaustion and pain.

Kodlak had confidence in her. While Aela and Farkas still murmured, trading speculation like pups, and Skjor scowled like an old hound, Kodlak was watching intently from their perch above the battleground to be with a particular anticipation. Despite the fight still waiting to happen, he already had the rest of the Companions preparing the celebration. While Ria was below, tasked with helping Di'kana into her armor, others were assisting Tilmo in rolling out casks of mead and preparing a feast fit for Jarls and kings. Kodlak expected, with the coming fight, Di'kana would not have much time to think on those details before she was outside to do battle with Vilkas.

Anticipation passed through the Circle as the young Khajiit warrior stepped out onto the yard, she and Vilkas most defined by torchlight reflecting back off of their armor. After more than a month of seeing her without, of looking at her and thinking her too small, too diminutive to be the warrior they'd witnessed before, to see her in those fine pieces of steel once again simply felt _right._ Farkas and Aela finally quieted as tense excitement had all four of them leaning upon the ledge, watching as weapons were drawn.

At the edges of the patio, other Companions could be seen gathering to watch. Tilmo must have sent them out to finish the work herself, aware that they'd want to see this.

Kodlak would have to give her a night off in the near future, as thanks. He knew cleaning up after the denizens of Jorrvaskr was no easy task.

* * *

"How does the weight feel, kit?"

Vilkas knew about the eyes above him, watching. It was his job to engage Di'kana quickly, to ensure that she did not... all the same, there was something intensely _right_ about the way she moved now that she was fully dressed again. He'd expected perhaps a moment or two of clumsiness after her time away, but it was more like she'd put her true skin back on over the false and flimsy identity of a common Khajiit.

"Like home." She answered, stretching her neck this way and that. Ria had never helped one of her kind with armor before, but she'd been extremely open to direction, the little differences in placement required by the Khajiit body. She also would have to express a personal appreciation to Eorlund, who had taken the time to further indent her back plate to allow the comfort of her tail and smooth the edge around said indentation so it did not cut into her or pull out her fur. More so, an additional section had been added, hinged like a pauldron, to rest atop the base of her tail and protect it.

Even the unpleasant folding of her ears against her head by her helm felt familiar and sorely missed. As she held her warhammer in her hands, her fingers flexed within her gauntlets while a heavy purr rumbled from within her chest, a wide grin unfolding over her face. In her mind, there was no doubt.

This is what she'd been born for.

Vilkas was ready for her, sword and shield ready. After a moment of staring each other down, they both sank into their ready stances. A word to begin did not need to be said, everything conveyed in a _look_ that had them circling, looking for the first opening.

Vilkas took it, drawing in close and thrusting his blade out, the tip of which was knocked away by the thick handle of her war hammer as she turned away. Boots kicked at the dirt, finding their traction and leading her to barrel forward. The head of her warhammer swung out, the blow caught by his shield, but her _body_ thrown directly past his guard while it was forced wide to block her weapon.

She'd not forgotten the weight her armor added, and how to use it. She felt his sword skip over the thick plate that rested over her shoulders as she twisted out, forcing his shield further from him and rising her hammer up to swing straight down against his chest-plate, expecting him to back off the moment she stopped pressing forward to try and gain a little distance.

Instead, he remained close, rising his own boot to shove into her belly and throw _her_ back. The head of her hammer came down, not upon him, but straight into the dirt as the force sent them too far apart to strike.

Some weeks ago, getting kicked like that would have left her without breath. Her ribs would have compressed and frozen her lungs, and stopped her from continuing on. Now? Now, that was no longer true. While a faint _ache_ persisted, the deep breaths she drew in did not agitate it, but made her feel _alive._

Her hammer was not drawn from the ground, but pressed into it with both hands as she used the handle to vault forward, lifting and throwing her weight over the lever and then drawing the weapon up behind her with new momentum. Vilkas saw her coming, his shield was up, but the pure force of the blow she sent down upon it made a sickening _crack_ as the wood of the shield splintered and was jarred aside. The hammer's path, mildly altered, continued down, striking viciously upon the joint between his shoulder and chest piece and leaving behind a dent in the metal that would compromise its flexibility.

Her body bent to recover her weapon, halt its path and pull back. She felt his shield, coming down to smash against the back of her neck and causing her to cry out. She anticipated his blade would be next, armored arm rising up and finding herself to be correct as steel clashed against steel and forced her off to the side as she regained herself and stood up straight.

Eye contact was made again while a few paces of space opened up. Vilkas was panting, but _grinning._ A split had opened in his shield, the bend in his shoulder piece likely meant he could no longer lift his sword arm above his head, but there was no sense of _surrender_ in him. Dimly, she was aware of the other Companions watching, cheering them on as they went at one another. In her chest, her heart thudded with a passion that brought her an almost spiritual sense of _bliss._

" _That's enough."_

A voice called out, strong and commanding. It cut through the haze of battle, and brought both her and Vilkas to look. It had come, not from the patio, but from _above._ Heads twisted, turning up and around, until figures could be addressed in the twilight. Shadows against the ever-glowing Skyforge, watching from above.

The voice was Kodlak.

Di'kana removed her helm at the call, swallowing her breath to stop her panting, to calm her heart and leave the fight. Her hammer returned to the place it belonged; on her back. Despite the gathering of people, the yard had gone deathly quiet as the figures above them moved, coming down from the Skyforge to troop into the yard. Kodlak led, but others were with him. Aela, Skjor, and Farkas. With Vilkas, all members of the Circle were present, and assembled in a semi-circle around Di'kana that made her realize _something_ was happening here that she'd not expected.

"You did well, Di'kana." Kodlak addressed her. "It's good to see you fight again."

"It is good _to_ fight again." She answered, unable to help feeling a little _tense._ What was going on? She looked to Farkas, as if he would give her answers. All the man did was smile at her, his eyes reflecting something... _pride?_

 _He was proud of her?_

"The fight was a test." Vilkas explained. "To see if you were strong enough to fight again... before we formally welcomed you into the Companions. Are you ready?"

She blinked, swallowing back her confusion. Had she not already been part of the family? She'd been treated as such, looked after, cared for, trained and watched over. She had not realized there was something more official than that, but... she _did_ want it. In all of Whiterun, where others looked at her like she did not belong... she wanted this.

"Yes."

A pleased expression spread over Kodlak's face, nodding his great white head of hair before rising his chin up to address all present. "Brothers and sisters of the Circle, Companions, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This woman has endured, has challenged, and has shown her valor. Who will speak for her?"

To answer Kodlak's call, Farkas answered, projecting for the assembled group to hear. "I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us."

"Would you raise your shield in her defense?"

Di'kana realized these proceedings were a sort of initiation ritual, or ceremony. These words that were being spoken, they were tradition, memorized for the occasion... yet, when Farkas spoke his answer, he did not look out to the others. He didn't even look at Kodlak. No, when he spoke his appointed answers, he looked at _her._

 _Directly at her._

"I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us."

"And would you raise a sword in her honor?"

"It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes."

"And would you raise a mug in her name?"

"I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in her stories."

"Then," Kodlak intoned, unaware of the galloping of Di'kana's poor heart. The manner in which it thudded away, somehow simultaneously flustered and elated by this experience, doing all she could to keep her ears from betraying her, to keep them perked up and forward. "The judgment of this circle is complete. Her heart beats with the fury and courage that has united the Companions since the days of distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."

In response, everyone within the Circle answered; _"It shall be so."_

"And now..." Kodlak raised his hands, before swiping them downwards and sending the group off. "Let us celebrate our new sister! To the hall!"

 _That_ caused the assembled group to cheer... nothing like welcoming a group of warriors to drink and feast. The Circle itself broke apart, Vilkas taking a moment to clap her on the shoulder. "We'll pour you a mug of mead, sister. Come inside when you're ready."

"Don't forget, it's tradition to tell the story of your trial." Aela added as she passed, Skjor on her heels. "Don't worry if you forgot any details- just exaggerate."

"Or don't." Farkas chuckled. "What _really_ happened isn't a half-bad story on its own."

"Let her be." Kodlak shooed the rest of the Circle off, standing much nearer to Di'kana now, shielding her from all the attention as she tried to get her head back together. "Go on, begin the feast... I will bring our guest of honor, after a few words."

"Of course, Harbinger." Vilkas nodded with an overflow of respect, he and Skjor seeming to herd Farkas and Aela along. In nearly no time at all, the yard was empty, save for Di'kana and Kodlak, leaving the young Khajiit to turn and look up at the man who watched over the Companions.

"Well, kit, you're one of us now. I trust you won't disappoint."

She nodded, eagerly. To be welcomed back among them, not just as a kit to be cared for, but in full capacity, was something she hadn't even known she'd needed. Yes, _needed_ was the right word. She had needed this, all of this, after everything that had happened. Still, a question found itself on her tongue. "Why the pretense? The Circle hid to watch, instead of gathering with the others..."

"Farkas suggested that you would take to the thought of a fight more than the thought of a test. Vilkas had planned to call on you soon enough, but Farkas insisted that today was best, lest we lose you altogether."

"... he told you of this one's family, then?"

Kodlak nodded slightly, sadly. There was understanding there that came from years of life, lived well, watching other lives bloom and shrivel as the winds of change ripped their roots from the ground and tossed them haplessly to new places. "It is a difficult thing, difficult enough to lose a family. To hear rumor that it might be regained, there must be conflict in your heart. The kind that makes it suffer in the split. Farkas worried that you would forget that there is _this_ family, here for you, in your suffering."

A scoff came up through her, shaking her head. Many of the companions insisted Farkas was not a smart man, but they failed to see the sort of intelligence that came from his _kindness._ Vilkas may have been the more learned brother, but Farkas seemed to have an understanding of _people_ that was more than average.

"He was right. This one did forget... it is good to be reminded."

She went quiet for a moment, thinking of the last time she and Kodlak were able to speak. It was after she'd come to the Companions for treatment of her injury, putting herself in their care rather than Lydia's. She had questions about the secret of the Companions.

About the _wolf_ the Circle harbored.

Accepted into the Companions, it brought other questions to her mind. _If_ she stayed in Skyrim, if she rose within the Companions, would the wolf be offered to her? Would she share in that secret, and hunt as Farkas did?

Now seemed as good a time as any to ask.

"This one had a question, if you would hear it? … the beast the Circle shares, we've spoken before of it, when this one saw Farkas change during her trial."

"We did." Kodlak confirmed, his voice lowering a bit. "And I warned you not to ask too much of those secrets, then... you learned of it before your appointed time. It is no matter, now, though. What would you like to know?"

"When this one saw him change... he seemed... _pained._ He called it a gift, it seems he joys in it, but suffering seemed to be part of it as well. Is it a gift...? Or an affliction?"

Kodlak's face turned pensive, thin lips pressing together, old eyes looking down and to the side as he considered her question. "The answer is not simple, kit. It differs from whom you ask. Some take to the blood more than others. Aela, for example, is a natural hunter who revels in every moment of it. Skjor celebrates the power it gives him as if he were born to it. Farkas enjoys the power, the primal essence that is, but at times it makes him restless, same as his brother. There are times that they resist it, and they suffer that resistance."

"And you?" Di'kana quested.

"I share the blood as well, however... I grow old. My mind turns towards the horizon. To Sovngarde. I worry that Shor won't call an animal to glory as he would a true Nord warrior. Living as beasts draws our souls closer to the Daedric Lord Hircine. Some may prefer an eternity in his Hunting Grounds, but I crave the fellowship of Sovngarde."

She blinked, cocking her head. "You're looking to cure yourself?"

"Yes." He confirmed. "But it is no easy matter..."

He trailed off, shaking his head, his great mane of white hair making him look noble as she realized his struggle. The blood was tradition, but it was at odds with his beliefs as a Nord. "But you don't need to share in the worries of an old warrior. This day is to rejoice in your bravery, and celebrate the recovery from your wounds. I imagine Farkas in particular is rather _impatient_ for you to join him and the others; the feast has already been made ready."

She blinked. Farkas had been mentioned a number of times already, but this one sounded more like a knowing prod. "Farkas...?" She quested, trying to play dumb.

"I am _old,_ kit, not _blind._ Young blood runs hot for more than the hunt. I've also noted the amulet of Mara, 'round your neck, even though you keep it tucked away. Do you have intent for him?"

It appeared little escape the sight of elders, regardless of race.

"... this one is unsure." She admitted. "If she were to stay in Skyrim, perhaps, but if not... this one would not make him leave his family just to chase hers."

"The Companions provide a new family for many who had found themselves lost... but very few get the chance to reclaim what was taken away. Take stock of your own heart, child, what it beats for. Whatever your decision, so long as you make it from your heart, we will not fault you, although..." He paused for a soft chuckle. "I will mention that you and Farkas look quite _happy_ together. Such things can be rare in a warrior's life, and short-lived."

Advice from a wise, old man. She'd remember it, nodding her understanding.

"Something else to keep in mind;" Kodlak added. "If you wish a weapon of Skyforge steel, speak to Eorlund. I'm sure he will be pleased to make something that fits your hands well... _after_ the celebration, of course."

To that, she laughed, turning to finally head inside. "Of course." She echoed while resisting the urge to run.

The warmth of being welcome chased away Skyrim's bitter cold.


	3. The Weight of Choice

**Author's Notes:**

 **And the update parade continues!**

This chapter was a liiiiitle short but my sense of flow told me to end it where I did, and I don't argue with that shit. As for those who have been asking when things are gonna get a bit more _spicy,_ calm your tits people, sexy stuff will happen when it happens and not a moment sooner. I understand the desire for some titillation, but to me said titillation is more fun when the story has some _substance_ to it.

Besides, it's fun to tease you guys. XD

 **I don't own Skyrim.**

* * *

 **Mixing Beastblood  
** **Chapter Three – The Weight of Choice**

At first telling of the story, Di'kana had stuck to the truth; omitting Farkas's transformation into a werewolf, that the people at the cairn were werewolf hunters, that she was the dragonborn and had gained the ability to breathe fire at the end of it all, and that she'd fallen unconscious after showing Farkas her Shout. Besides that, she told it as it was; how she'd fought a dwarven automaton the day before and taken a massive steam-powered hammer to the ribs, only to turn around and face her trial the very next day, fighting draugr, 'greedy bandits' who'd come to steal the blade fragment before them, and ultimately breaking her ribs in battle only to suck down a potion and leap right back into the fray. Despite her lingual tics, her fellow companions seemed rather _enthralled,_ more so when Farkas joined her in the telling, picking up where she'd accidentally trapped herself and he had to _single-handedly_ fight ten people before freeing her. Of course, when the tale concluded with her walking all the way back to Whiterun with cracked ribs, marching to the novice quarters and finally collapsing of pain and exhaustion, everyone had to raise a mug and drink it down- _including_ the storytellers.

Di'kana would admit, she'd never actually been drunk before. She was no stranger to wine and mead, but she knew them more by smell than by taste, and most certainly not by personal intoxication. Tonight the drink of choice was mead, the casks rolled close to the fire to heat them, Tilmo and Vilkas managing the taps to insure no unsure feet would accidentally bump one of the barrels into the fire itself.

She'd never had mead _warmed_ before. At first she'd found it rather bracing; the sweet honey smell both pleasant, but also making her poor pink nose burn. It was only wrapped up in the energy of the hall that she'd hefted her first tankard to her lips, splashing some liquid into her fur with her enthusiasm to join with the others in their reckless abandon. Drank down, the heat of her drink quickly turned to heat in her belly and her head, and laughter coming freely as she leaned upon Farkas to keep her balance in the crowd. When the second mug met her hand, it was without thought that it was lifted to her lips, sipped at as she tried to keep up with the voices around her while they asked questions, for details of her adventure, hardly realizing that Farkas had actually departed from her side. There were still people all around her, pressing in, seeking details and congratulating her on her hard work. Where Farkas's bulk had moved, other bodies were there, keeping her upright as her tail lazily flopped against the air, forgetting how to do its job.

It all just felt so _warm. So delightfully warm._

Farkas, however, had not departed willingly. He'd been pulled from the crowd, a hand finding his elbow and yanking until his bulk was free of the throng. There'd been no desire to leave, but the grip on his arm had been far too insistent to ignore. When he finally looked to see who was yanking, his eyebrows rose up. "Aela, what do you want?"

The red headed woman shook her head shortly, making a motion for him to follow her. While she had a tankard of mead herself, she'd made no motion to drink it, and the stern look on her face cut through the air of jovial celebration like a knife.

He had a bad feeling about this, but followed her anyway as she led him away from the knot of Companions about the table, nearer to the rail that kept people from falling into the stairwell leading into the basement. Once there, despite them being the only ones on that side of the room, she spoke lowly.

"Skjor wants to give her the beastblood."

Farkas blinked. Suddenly, he understood Aela's level of seriousness. Skjor was the one who had suggested a _month_ ago that Di'kana be raised up to the Circle as soon as possible, a suggestion that required unanimous agreement before it happened... but the reason behind it had been revealed. He was trying to share their gift, eagerly, and felt Di'kana could handle it.

What he didn't understand was why Aela was telling _him._

"So? It's her decision whether she wants it or not, when that time comes. Vilkas won't agree until she's started working again, and I follow him."

"It should be her _informed_ decision. Not everyone can handle the blood. Skjor talks like it's good enough to get her drunk and _convince_ her, and he's asked _me_ to be her forebear when the time comes. I've no problem sharing the gift, but _you_ should talk to her about it, make sure she knows what she's getting into if she makes that choice."

A _frown_ tightened on Farkas's face- not the first time Skjor had done something ruthless, bullheaded in his way. Confronting him would make him angry; not something Farkas wanted to do... but he was unsure of what words Aela expected him to use in talking to Di'kana.

"Why don't you talk to her?"

" _Me?"_ Aela quested, shaking her head. "She and I have not even hunted together, I hardly know her... _you're_ the one who fell into bed with her."

Farkas's face threatened to morph into a glower for a second- Aela had promised not to speak of that, at Di'kana's insistence. Truly, Farkas did not entirely know what it was he and the small Khajiit girl had, but whatever it was, she was not yet comfortable with it being public.

That said, it wasn't like Aela to take cheap jabs like that. There was another reason, one that dawned on him a second later. "... Skjor's watching you, isn't he? To make sure you don't warn her off."

It was Aela's turn to blink, but her eyes turned downwards, showing Farkas that he was right. There was no surprise to be had; in a group where violence was accepted, there were occasionally members who took it too far, into intimidation. No one would ever disrespect Skjor to his face, but both he and Aela knew that the direct route was not the smart one.

Finally, he nodded. "I'll talk to her, and Vilkas. We can block the Circle's decision until she's sure about what she wants and Skjor won't be able to pressure her."

"You're a good man, Farkas... better than most would give you credit for." Aela's gaze came back up to him, visibly relieved. "Myself included. Now, go be by her. _Someone_ has to keep her out of trouble tonight, no matter how many times they fill her cup."

* * *

Di'kana did not remember how many times her cup had been filled the night before. Nor did she remember how many times the story had been told- or exactly how extravagant it had become. There had been a point during the second telling that others in the group had shouted out their own additions, that it was not ten, but _twenty_ men that Farkas had to fight to save Di'kana from her entrapment. She remembered Ria's voice in particular, claiming that Di'kana had saved Farkas's life in kind in the main burial chamber when the draugr set upon them in waves. In every re-iteration, the battles became more fantastic, more desperate, her injury taken further to bloodied and broken, but _still_ she marched back to Jorrvaskr under the moon to come home to her 'family' and collapse into bed. She was certain that one of the tellings had her personally handing the fragment of Wuuthrad over to Kodlak before laying her body to rest.

She was glad no one among the Companions was a scribe. If someone were to pen such a story, she would want her name stricken from it.

Upon the morning, she found her mouth dry and her body lethargic. She turned where she lay, stretching out, nose and tail rising up to make an arc of her spine as fingers and toes spread out and reached as far as they could. She assumed that she'd fallen to bed in the novice quarters, and grappled towards her bedpost that she'd padded with layers of burlap so that she could indulge her desire to scratch in the morning without damaging the bed itself. When her hand found the post, however, she found no padding on it- just wood that her talons scored through before sleepy eyes blinked open.

She was not in the novice quarters. Her nose quivered as she confirmed her location- the _scent,_ a mixture of honey-sweet mead, and that more wild, musky scent she found too tempting to be fair.

She was in Farkas's room. Her head twisted about, despite feeling pained and heavy, looking for him. The fire was burning in the hearth set into the wall, fresh candles had recently been lit- she dared to think even some of the bottles scattered about the room had been gathered up and consolidated on the wooden counter at the other corner of the room, like he'd taken the time to clean up his space a little bit. What she did _not_ see was the man himself; Farkas was nowhere to be found.

She rolled again, realizing the armor she'd worn the night before was gone. Brows knit together, trying to remember how exactly she'd gotten down here. It was _fuzzy-_ she knew the celebration had lasted long into the night, that the mead never seemed to run dry. She'd eaten, drank, told stories, even sang songs- _badly,_ but she'd tried. Farkas had been at her side the whole time, advising her when she didn't know what to do, laughing with her, keeping her from starting any brawls over anyone calling her _kitten_ too much... though she dimly recalled Arthis _really_ asking for it at one point. Then, when the mead's sweetness tasted stale on the tongue, when stomachs could bare no more food, and when eyes burned for the effort of staying open, people began to retire. One by one, the noise of the celebration had wound down as Companions departed for bed for fell asleep in their chairs. For the ones who rested their heads at the table, Tilmo had guided them back to their furs- the old woman was stronger than she looked.

She remembered now- Farkas had taken her outside. She hadn't wanted to sleep yet, so they'd stepped out for some cool air and some time _alone_...

Recollection was interrupted as the door opened. She jumped in place, settling once more as she saw Farkas poke his head in, followed by the rest of his body and the door shutting behind him. He wasn't in his armor either, instead just a tunic and trousers, the kind of things usually worn underneath to keep the metal from chafing against the skin. In his hand was a water skin- something she reached for wantingly before even asking a single question. Without a word, he let her have it, taking a seat at the end of the bed to watch her greedily drink its contents in an attempt to banish the dry feeling from her mouth.

"No one knows you're here." He told her, while she was still drinking. "The others think you wanted to go see Lydia, include her in the celebration, bring her some mead. By the time we came back inside, pretty much everyone was done, and you could hardly stand... I _tried_ to put you in your bed, but every time I got up to leave, you tried to follow me... didn't leave me much choice."

" _Apologies."_ She muttered between greedy gulps, a few droplets of water falling down her chin. It wasn't until she'd nearly finished the skin that she realized that _he_ might be thirsty, stopping herself from drinking it all and looking back to him, sheepishly offering to return it.

He waved it away. "I'm alright. I didn't drink all that much last night, and hangovers aren't so bad for me."

He didn't have to tell her twice, returning the skin to her mouth and emptying it, this time handing it back for it to be set aside. She moved, slowly, sluggishly, to sit upright.

"Take it slow." He advised.

"This one's head hurts." She muttered, ears flat to her head as a deep and throaty growl rumbled through her.

"That happens when you drink too much." He chuckled, reaching one of his great hands to her narrow shoulder. The warmth of his palm felt good, something she leaned into as she continued to fuss over the details she did not remember from the night before.

"You... brought this one outside, for the air. The cool, and the clear... was there more?"

"You tried to make it more." He reported with a shrug. "You're very _affectionate_ when you drink, but I've got a policy on bedding girls who won't remember- _don't."_

Good to know. She took this information with a slow nod, and, after several moments- "Thank you... this one enjoys our time... it would be a pity not to remember it."

"Any other gaps you want me to fill in for you?"

"Did this one do anything regretful?"

"You and Aela had a tussle that nearly landed her in the fire pit. She might tease you for that, but no one got hurt."

She blinked. She didn't remember _that_ at all... but it didn't sound outside the realm of possibility.

"Listen, Di'kana... I wanted to talk to you."

Her attention came back to him. The way he said it, there was a burst of heat on the back of her neck that focused her poor aching mind. Whatever was on his, it seemed serious. "This one is listening."

He nodded a little, though hesitation still reigned. Words were rarely his friends, but this seemed to be of particular difficulty for him. Finding the right way to come at it, where to start, creating a blockade that left him quiet for an extensive period that left the tip of her tail twitching with the tension.

"That the beginning, Farkas." She encouraged him, softly. "Why must you tell Di'kana this thing?"

"Aela is worried that Skjor is going to try and force you to take the beastblood."

The statement came all at once, quickly tossed out of his mouth like an unwelcome guest.

"... this one thought that was something of the Circle?"

"Kodlak wants to elevate you to the Circle. Skjor is pushing for it to happen as fast as possible. Once it does, he's probably going to approach you and offer for you to become like us. He can be... _very_ convincing."

There was a twinge on Farkas's face. There was a hint of _fear_ there- Skjor had the power to frighten him.

"Whatever you do is your choice." He went on. "But you should know what that choice means for you. If... if you want to ask me anything about it, what it's like, you're welcome to."

"Does it pain you?"

Her question was the same one she asked Kodlak the night before. She had curiosity, overflowing curiosity, and presented with the opportunity there were many things she wanted to ask.

Like Kodlak, his answer took a moment. It was not so simple as 'yes' or 'no.'

"The transformation _does_ hurt, but... it's not that simple. There's more to it than pain. The beast- it's not just when I change. It's always here, part of me. When the change comes, there's this sense of _freedom._ I... I don't know if I have the words for it, but it drowns out the pain. I won't say it makes it _worth_ it, but it's more like just _doesn't matter."_

She nodded slightly. The fact that he had difficulty describing it simply meant she'd have to ask another about it, perchance someone a bit more eloquent. Those were plans for later, though. There was another factor to her eventual decision that had nothing to do with what Skjor wanted, or even what Kodlak wanted.

"... if this one rises to the Circle, it would be wrong to leave." She stated. "It is responsibility, to be part of the Circle. Accepting that would mean accepting a place in Whiterun, and not abandoning it... the hopes for this one's family would have to end."

She didn't allow time for Farkas to respond to that observation. She moved to stand up, no matter how her body hated her for it. Looking to him, she drew in a long breath before letting it out.

"Di'kana must think on these things... she will sneak away, and return later."

He didn't argue her ability to get out of Jorrvaskr unnoticed; without her heavy armor, she was beyond silent when she needed to be. However, he did have a question for her before she slipped out of his chamber.

"Di'kana..." He cleared his throat a little. "Would you stay... _for me?"_

Those words caught her off guard. Great blue eyes widened a little, blinking a few times before her head lowered. He felt a pang of guilt that he'd made her burden even heavier, but he knew he would have regretted not asking even more.

" _I must think."_ She responded, answering him as clearly as she knew how, before vanishing beyond the door.


	4. Knowing Better

**Author's Notes:**

 **I don't own Skyrim.**

 **SHIT** I just noticed that FF was removing my pagebreaks. Going back to previous chapters and fixing that. Sorry!

* * *

 **Mixing Beastblood  
** **Chapter Four – Knowing Better**

It was the first time in many months that Di'kana came home to an empty house. It was strange, to open the door and find no-one inside, not to hear Lydia rushing to greet her. Of course; the one day that she came into her home seeking her housecarl was the day the woman was no where to be found. The front door shut with force, the young Khajiit let out a yowl that might have shaken the rafters for its force, marching up the stairs to her room to engage in a rather unproductive pass time.

 _Pacing._

It didn't matter that walking up and down her bedroom did her literally no good at all, that passing back and forth just beyond the tail of her bed served no purpose but to let her whip her tail about every time she turned. This was not the sort of thing that helped her think, or helped her make decisions, but rather was born of an inability to hold still. It did not help her, it did not soothe her, but she was unable to _hold still._

She'd come here to speak to Lydia, to have another person to speak with, to _think_ with, and Lydia was likely out replenishing the larder from what had been consumed during Ri'saad's visit. Not for the first time since that visit, Di'kana had a feeling of _exhaustion_ and _helplessness._ What had been elated joy the night before, as she was taken into the embrace of the Companions, now only made her head feel all the heavier as she realized no matter _what_ she did, someone was going to lose her. The decision now was whether she would stay lost to her family, or become lost to Jorrvaskr to chase a _chance_ that her family might be found.

Below, the door opened. Her pacing ceased suddenly, ears perked. "Lydia?"

"Yes- back so soon, Thane?"

Voices were projected across the intervening floor, but Di'kana's voice rose higher as her distress drove her tone. " _To me, now."_

Sharp Khajiit ears caught the sound of cursing and quick steps, whatever Lydia had been carrying abandoned at the bottom of the stairs to come up. Arriving upon the upper landing, turning quickly, and stopping short when she and her liege made eye contact with one another- a moment at which Lydia blinked, confused and unsure of the urgency. "What's wrong...? I assumed you were hurt-" She cut herself off, shaking her head and finishing her approach, entering the bedroom. "How may I be of assistance, my Thane?"

Di'kana waved a hand, as if she might dispel Lydia's constant respect like so much smoke. "Speak as a friend... this one is in need of one."

 _Stranger and stranger,_ but Lydia would not, _could not_ let words of refusal pass her lips. "Alright... as a friend, what's wrong?"

Di'kana's face turned away, resuming her pacing. Resuming her one foot in front of the other, reaching the wall and rounding as if she were surrounded by enemies only to stalk the opposite face of timbers and pitch about again.

"This one does not know what to do. There is a decision to be made. To go one way, _regret, loss, abandoning everything that has been built,_ but hope of returning to the way things _were._ To go the other, there is much to be gained. Assured kinship, perhaps even... more than that, but..." She shook her head, ears flapping against her skull. "Abandoning this one's family... that is what it would feel like, to choose to stay in Skyrim. But choosing to leave feels the same. New family, bigger, but it feels just as important. And then-" Her hands batted at the air now, a guttural roar leaving her maw as her body hunched into a crooked and lurching creature that could not stop the ceaseless path of back and forth, back and forth.

"Thane..."

Blazing blue eyes turned upon Lydia, refusing the title. That wasn't what she needed right now. She didn't need someone who _served_ her, she needed someone who _supported_ her, a trusted _equal._

"Di'kana." Lydia corrected herself. "Trying to pass through the closed border to chase a rumor would be foolish. I do not know your people, but surely your family would not want you to risk yourself like that? … would they not be pleased that you found a new kin, that you found a way to be accepted, safe, and thrive?"

" _They do not know!"_ She spat back, coming to a sudden halt at the wall, slashing at it, leaving enraged scratches in the wood. Her other hand lifted, thudding heavily into the boards at the highest point of her reach. There, her talons stuck, knuckles half-clenched and muscles tense enough to see through her simple clothes. "... they may never know what became of this one... it has been _seasons,_ Lydia. A merchant cannot live searching for one lost kit. Not for that long. If it is them, they only quested at the border because they did not find this one's body along the road, and they will not stay long enough for Ri'saad to confirm the rumors. This opportunity is _limited..."_

"Then _imagine."_ Lydia instructed, daring to step closer to where the younger woman had come to a stop. " _Think_ about what kind of opposition you would face, the odds of actually getting across the border- would they want you to risk your life like that? Is knowing what happened to you _worth_ that? Not to you- to _them?"_

Di'kana went quiet. Rough breathing came through her nose, mouth closed and teeth gritted hard.

Slowly, the violence left her stance. All the tells of anger, of frustration and rage, faded back into the tired slump of her shoulders. Claws released from the wall, her hand sliding harmlessly down.

"No. This one was mother's only. There was to be a brother, but he was born without breath, too early, too small." Di'kana leaned her head against the wall. She remembered the still babe that would have been her younger brother. _Pure white,_ he would have been magnificent... but where he had not cried, her mother had cried for days.

Her mother would not want her to risk herself- she would be glad that Di'kana was alive. The same was true of her father... but a different idea struck her in that moment.

A different solution.

"A _letter_ could cross the border." She mused. "This one could pen a letter, send it on. If it is them, they will know this one is still alive. They will know that they need not cry for Di'kana."

"A letter?" Surprise. Lydia hadn't thought of that; sending a letter to a _caravan_ was no easy task, but said caravan was stopped at a border. It provided a unique situation where a courier might actually stand a chance of finding the intended recipient.

"It is worth a try." Di'kana decided, her posture rising up. A course of action decided upon, she could let go of her agitation and put it towards something a little more useful than pacing about like a common _cat._ "If a letter comes back, then this one will know as well; that she was not forgotten."

Despite the weight of the atmosphere, Lydia found it in herself to crack a faint smile. "I find it unlikely they would _forget_ you. I don't think anyone who knows you _could."_

"Flattery will not excuse you from preparing this one's quill and ink."

 _That_ was her Thane. Despite having been asked to be a friend, being returned to their usual dynamic where she was at Di'kana's beck and call made Lydia relax. "Of course, though- a question, if I may?"

"Ask it."

"If you receive an answer, if it is your caravan- what will you do? The border is still closed, you can't go to them _now,_ but..."

That gave Di'kana pause. Lydia was right. If it was them, she would still have to make the _stay or go_ decision... it would just be _later,_ after Skyrim's conflict was over.

She sighed. "Still, this one is not sure. There are... many reasons to stay."

"I'll wager a guess that a certain Companion is among them?" Lydia quested. She knew not of what happened within the walls of Jorrvaskr, but she'd seen Farkas's frequent visits to Di'kana while she'd been recovering... and she knew rather fully of Di'kana's attraction to the man. She'd have to be stupid not to realize what was happening between the pair.

"He asked if this one would. There is _desire_ to... _enjoyment_ of him has remained, longer than expected. He is more than _thrilling_ and _pleasing to the eye;_ he is comforting, and kind." She paused, thinking on it longer. "He makes this one happy."

"Does _he_ know that?"

She blinked. Blue eyes fluttered, bewildered.

"Writing supplies, Lydia. _Now."_

"Of course, my Thane."

* * *

"Kitten! We'd lost you last night- where were you?"

Despite the celebration the night before, Jorrvaskr seemed the same as it ever was in the morning. Tilmo had cleaned up the messes and ensured the tables were full to bursting with food and drink before even the earliest of risers. By the time Di'kana had returned, it was business as usual with a loose gaggle of people about the table, taking and eating what they would before reporting to one member of the Circle or another and asking for work. The noise was actually a comfort to Di'kana, that no one had waited up for her. Maybe they expected her to sleep late that morning, after all the reveling was done and over with.

That wasn't _quite_ true. Yes, she'd slept some before skulking her way out of Jorrvaskr to speak with Lydia, but her morning had been more productive than not, as evidenced by the new weapon on her back. The particular bright shine of Skyforge steel, along the fresh edge of a massive battleaxe. After writing her letter and charging Lydia with bringing it to Ri'saad with appropriate payment for the service, she'd gone to Eorlund. In doing so, she'd discovered where her armor had gone; Farkas must had brought it up to the Skyforge to be cared for. While suiting up, she also taken Eorlund up on the offer of a new weapon that befit her position within the pack... as well made a request of the man's services for something personal.

The weight felt good. She'd miss her warhammer, but she knew axes just as well. This weapon would serve her, she was sure, same as the armor he had fixed up for her. Her helm was tucked beneath her arm when she came back to the mead hall. Most eyes looked up and recognized her now when she entered in, and she nodded to them. There was a new sense of _belonging_ here since last night, but there was a particular person she was seeking this morning.

A particular huntress.

"This one had thought to include Lydia in the festivities... and then fell into bed before making it back." According to Farkas, it was what everyone already believed, and she'd not speak the truth with some many ears to hear it. Aela was at the table, digging into a roasted haunch of goat with gusto. She'd already chewed it most of the way down to the bone, looking up with a welcoming hand that bid Di'kana to join her, and eat. While she hesitated at first, the young Khajiit finally took a seat at the huntress's side, and reached out for a slab of seared slaughterfish to dig into heartily with her fingers.

"We had thought as much." Aela laughed. "Maybe you should invite _her_ to join in with the Companions- from your story, she fought valiantly against the Centurion with you. She would likely fit well with us."

"Ah, but then who would keep this one's home?" Di'kana wondered with a false sneer. "Lydia has expressed no desire to be anything besides that which she is- this one believes that she prefers her life, serving. She basks in the glory of others, not her own."

"I suppose we can't _all_ be expected to go and seek glory for ourselves- some must be content to follow on the heels of others. Without followers, leaders would never lead." Aela accepted this with another chomp down on the bone of her goat, ripping away some of the remaining meat with little decorum. " _So!_ Look at you, suited up and ready to face the world again. No more pain, even after you and Vilkas went at it?"

"None. The armor feels _good,_ like the embrace of an old friend."

"And the new axe? That's Eorlund's work, isn't it? He's the only one who works the Skyforge. Impressive, isn't it?"

"Quite. He insisted on sharpening the edge before this one took it. He is passionate about his work- but also humble. The calm of a master."

"He is that." Aela agreed, reaching for a tankard and drinking it down. "I'm sure there's plenty of work to go around; you need to get back out, cut your teeth again."

"Very true- this one had a request for that."

" _Oh?"_

"A hunt." Di'kana answered. "With you."

Aela's brows rose up. She looked at the cat curiously, bemused but going along with the suggestion for the moment. "I _might_ have something worth sending the both of us- but why me? I thought you might be seeking time with... _someone else."_

It was the obvious choice, wasn't it? Maybe, if Di'kana was seeking gratification at this moment, but she wasn't. She could worry about _fun_ when she'd laid her worries to rest and made her decisions. In this moment, she was still digging, still getting more information.

"This one had spent time with many Companions, but you have remained away for the most part. You helped train this one after her injury, but it was not a time in which there was much _interaction_ beyond _taunting_ to keep Di'kana upright. She knows you have a sharp tongue, but what else it there to know? To hunt together would be to travel together, and there would be time to learn. Time to become familiar."

Aela was unsure of how to react. She remembered how she'd felt about Di'kana when she'd first come to the Companions; she'd been wary and suspicious of the young Khajiit, expecting the worst of her. Her respect for the girl had grown over time, but little bits of her distrust still clung on.

It was unconscious poison in her mind, the idea that she had to be up to something because she was Khajiit. Aela wanted to cast it out of herself, take it out of her mind like one sucked venom from a wound. She'd wrongly judged the kit from the start, and it was more than high time to change that... or at least give it a _chance_ to change.

"Very well. We will hunt together- prepare yourself to leave at dawn tomorrow morning. Gather supplies... and notify anyone who might _care_ that you're gone. We will be away from Whiterun for some time; there's a group of snowy sabers that have moved too close to Dawnstar for comfort. It will be a journey just to get there. You wouldn't want anyone to miss you too much, I'm sure."

Di'kana's eyes narrowed, though the line of her lips did not lack humor. "This one understands your _hints."_

"Excellent." Aela nodded. "I'll meet you at the gate tomorrow morning, then, before first light. _Don't be late."_

* * *

" _What were you talking about?"_

If Kodlak were the alpha of the pack, Skjor was the younger male seeking to take over. Kodlak was the wise wolf that watched over the others, calmly, quietly, only stepping in when needed, only snarling when necessary because the others already knew his power and strength. There was no _struggle_ for respect because he already had it to the highest degree. He'd proven himself before, a thousand times over, that no one would challenge him once he'd made his decision out of pure admiration and esteem.

Skjor was nothing like him. He was the scarred and beaten rogue, tossed from other packs and biting whenever there was even a _hint_ of defiance. There was _insecurity_ to his anger, his one good eye glowering at Aela after he'd come to see her, alone, in her chambers. The other, milky and dead, only served to make his gaze more haunting, more unnerving, as his gait took him right up to her and forced her back towards the wall, the door slammed shut behind him.

Aela gave ground out of surprise. She'd known Skjor was watching; he had ever since he'd asked her to be Di'kana's forebear.

She just wasn't expecting him to be utterly unreasonable.

"She wanted to hunt." Aela answered, planting her feet short of being fully backed against the wall, standing her ground and raising her head. She would not _cower_ before Skjor as he charged in, all bluster and rage. "She asked, and I agreed. We're leaving for Dawnstar in the morning."

"You're going together? Did she ask for that?"

"She _did-_ she wants to get to know me. _Damnit_ Skjor, you _know_ I'm on your side. I _agree_ the gift should be shared, not snuffed out- you think I'm going to warn her off?"

"I think you might go soft at the last second if she gives you reason to. Kodlak worries she might not stay with us, that she might try to run away."

"For _family-_ you think _I_ would encourage that? She directly told me that she wants to get to know me better. Why would she be seeking out friendships if she was intending to abandon?"

"If she refuses the gift, _I will take it out of your hide."_

"Don't _threaten_ me!" Aela snarled, reaching out to shove Skjor back from herself, baring her teeth despite her current human form. It didn't matter; Skjor's posturing agitated the beast, made the heat bubble up through her with a desire to take fangs to his throat. "If you're worried about anyone, worry about _Farkas,_ he's the one who-"

Aela's voice died. Hasty words had betrayed something that made Skjor's gaze widen, his face open with surprise before narrowing down upon her again and approaching a new with a fresh layer of _menace_ in his gaze.

"Farkas. I see."

"N-no, no you don't-"

"Thank you, Aela. I should have this all sorted out by the time the two of you have returned."

"Skjor, what are you planning?"

He turned from her, moving to open the door. He was calmer, now, but that was of no comfort. No, no, the fact that he was quiet was what finally struck _fear_ deep into Aela's chest.

"Nothing for you to worry about, sister. All will be well... I wish you luck on your hunt."


	5. The Promise

**Author's Notes:**

Holy crap, five days, five chapters.

Have I mentioned lately that I've really missed fanfiction?

Cause I did.

 **I don't own Skyrim.**

* * *

 **Mixing Beastblood  
** **Chapter Five – The Promise**

"Heck of a place for a meeting, Kitten."

Di'kana chuckled softly at Farkas's complaint; or maybe it was just a comment to get words into the air and begin the conversation. All the same, she was pleased to see him out here- afternoon light cast an orange haze over the plains that surrounded Whiterun, something she and he had a rather grand view of. She'd invited him to come and meet her on the bridge that was just past the sign-post for Riften, the near-by meadery saturating the area in the sweet smell of honey that reminded of the celebration the night before. Water that rushed down the mountains flowed beneath the bridge, providing a back-drop of white noise that was both soothing and just loud enough to discourage eavesdropping from even the most determined individual. One might have even called the location _romantic,_ if one wanted to sound foolish.

Occasionally, she was that.

"You got this one's invitation, and came. As good a place as any, away from prying eyes and ears."

"What's this about, Di'kana?"

Right to the point, as always. She appreciated that about him, nodding slightly and accepting that bandying about the issue was not worthwhile. As he approached her on the bridge, joining her at the height of its arc, leaning on the edge where the water flowed out into the river and calmed from the mountain's haste, she reached into a pouch on her hip to fetch something. He watched, seeing that she'd gotten some kind of object out, but it was enclosed in her palm, not shown to him yet as she looked up once more.

"This one goes to hunt with Aela tomorrow, maybe to be gone for a long while."

"I heard." Farkas nodded. "Dawnstar. It's quite the trip. Is that why you wanted me out here? A little time alone before you disappear on me?"

"In part." She nodded a little, motioning for him to hold out his hand. He didn't understand why, but did it anyway, opening up his palm and waiting for whatever it was she wanted to do. From her hand, the object she'd pulled out was transferred from her grasp to his.

It was her amulet. The amulet of Mara that she'd been wearing since joining the Companions. She'd told him it was to remind her that life was short, so it was best to enjoy it while one could. Usually she kept it tucked away, under her armor and clothes and away from view. He was fairly certain that he was one of the select few who had actually seen it and confirmed what it was, save that visit she'd had with Ri'saad where she'd worn it as decoration. However, something had been changed about it since the last time he'd seen it. On the back, it had been engraved with an image- a tiny cat and a shaggy wolf, sitting side-by-side. This changed it, made it specifically hers... and _his,_ he realized. She'd taken the effort to make it unique, playing on their nicknames for each other- and now...?

"You're giving this to me? Why?"

"This one engaged you for _play,_ but it has become more than that... there is feeling here." She swallowed, glancing downwards as she reflected. This was what she'd gone to Eorlund for, besides getting her new weapon. She'd asked him to engrave this little image on the back of her amulet to make it special. Since then, she'd been practicing in her head what she was going to say. She didn't want to ruin it with the odd way she talked in common; she wanted to be clear and direct. " _I_ feel for you. More intensely than was thought would happen. I do not want anyone else to see me wear that. No one, no one but _you. I do not want anyone else,_ so... you will hold that until I decide if Skyrim is home. If I do, I will ask for it back. If not, you will have something to _remember_ Di'kana by."

"I won't have to remember you."

His response was something that came quickly, without forethought. Her head jerked up to him, what she imagined would have been said getting derailed. Her amulet still lay in his open palm, but the other hand reached to rub the side of her face, smoothing back the fur of her cheek and shaking his head at her.

"If you leave to try and take on the world and find your family, I'm going with you. Even if you tried to take off without me, I've got your scent- I'd follow you."

"... you'd leave your family to chase mine?" Slow, stumbling language that had trouble comprehending. Why would he do that for her? "Y-your brother..."

"Vilkas would understand." Farkas batted back in an instant. "If you feel this way about me, I'd be stupid to let you go... lot of people think I _am_ stupid, but you know me better. More important, _I know you-_ wherever you go, it's going to be an adventure. Story is already pretty good, I want to know what happens next."

She felt as if her jaw might fall away from her face, the way it hung slack. She might have trembled for the way her pulse pounded through her neck and chest, making her feel as if her heart were in her throat. The pink tip of her tongue dashed out a moment, wetting her lips as she searched for words. The ones she'd rehearsed no longer applied. She'd been ready to argue, ready to accept rejection if it had finally come, but this? To have him accept so readily? To _commit?_

She had not been ready for that. It made her re-think her own position. Re-think _why_ she was doing this.

Her hands moved, to fold his hand closed over her amulet. "Keep it." She stressed to him. "... this one... she will ask for it when she intends to wed. Keep it as a promise, that it will be _you..._ that you will wait for her until she is ready."

He looked down to where she'd pressed his fingers over it, and back up to her earnest expression. This had gone from a promise that she wasn't going to mess around with anyone else to something _much_ bigger... and yet, the transition felt natural. Right. If she were a Nord, they probably would have tied the knot a while ago, back when they first started making each other smile. Back when he'd first started respecting her as a warrior, which hadn't taken long at all.

If she'd asked him right then, the answer would have been yes... and he wasn't the type to change his mind over time.

"You and me, huh? … I can see it. Just try not to _die_ before then, Di'kana."

His head dipped down, bumping his nose against hers. It was a simple show of affection, and the sound of her purring vibrated through her breastplate in response.

"Your Kitten will be safe, dear Wolf." She promised. "Stay safe as well?"

"I'll do the best that I know how."

" _Good."_ She nodded, a strange satisfaction coming over her for all of this. Stepping away from their soft exchange of hushed words, she turned her attention outwards, looking to continue down the road and bring him with her. "Now, follow this one- there is word that bandits have taken over a tower this way... it would be wise to learn the swing of my axe on lesser fighters before facing greater battles."

 _That_ got him to grin. "Take it easy with the sweet talk, Kitten, I already said _yes."_ Falling in step with her, he decided the way she'd been keeping the amulet would work just as well for him. It went over his head, rough crop of hair thrown out and over the twine the amulet hung upon before tucking it under his armor and clothes. "Let's go crack some skulls."

* * *

"Right on time. Eager to see the road?"

Just as Aela said, she was awaiting Di'kana at the gate before first light, bow slung on her back and a sword hanging from her belt. Over her shoulder were saddlebags, bulging with provisions for the journey- a thought they had in common. Aela had not mentioned them riding, but Di'kana had brought her necessities within saddlebags for her own horse that was housed at the Whiterun stables. She had figured whether Aela rode or not, a horse would lessen the burden of anything collected along the way.

Like herbs. So many herbs.

"This one was born on the road. It is home, in a sense." She answered.

"Born on the road...? Do you mean that _literally?_ Or is that just a way to say your family are traveling traders?" Aela asked as the pair of them moved to pass through the gate and out of Whiterun. At this early hour, when the night guards awaited their relief and the braziers burnt the last of their fuel for the eve, the city was almost disturbingly quiet. Those few who stirred were the laborers who worked on the farms outside the city, but lived within, heading out to their day of work on the fields to keep Whiterun fed. Heading outside, the world was so _quiet,_ so _silent,_ the birds of the dark silencing for sleep, the birds of the day not yet risen. If a Khajiit were to make a dishonest living, _this_ would be the thieving hour; this hour that came just before dawn.

"Quite literally." Di'kana answered as they descended down the slope towards the stables. "Some groups of traders band together into a larger caravan for safety in numbers- father was raised in such a group, and continued it when he grew. There were several others who traveled with him, and they all profited from wagons and mules to pull them. When mother joined him on his travels it did not take long before she was carrying this one. My arrival came while she was riding in a wagon with the goods."

"They didn't stop in a town and wait when it was getting close to time?"

"Khajiit pregnancy can be unpredictable. This one came a moon before her time, born small, but _very much_ alive."

"Truly?" Aela could not help a laugh as she shook her head. "A fighter from birth, then. Your life is like a tale. The unlikely hero who never does what's expected."

"What of your family?" Di'kana quested, curious. "This one rarely hears the companions speak of those who birthed them."

"I come from a _long_ line of shield sisters." Aela answered as they approached the stables, altering her path to a chestnut mare who, unlike some of the others in their stalls, was awake and nickering, as if her mistress were later than expected during this quiet hour. Saddlebags were laid to the side for the moment, bridling and slipping a bit into her mount's mouth and putting a wool saddle blanket over the mare's back, followed by the process of strapping on the saddle itself after hefting it from where it was stored on the edge of the stall. "My mother, her mother before her, and her mother before her- and so on. I lived with my father in the woods, hunting all that could be hunted, until it was time for my trial. Ma didn't live to see me join... but I honor her now. I know that. To me, there is no greater tradition she could have passed down into my hands."

"What of your father?"

"He's somewhere in the wide world."

"He didn't join with your mother?" Di'kana, too, had put herself to the task of preparing her horse. It started with waking the stocky white mare, a gentle hand passing over the animal's black-speckled coat until its head twisted a little to look and acknowledge her.

"Father wasn't the sort. Hunter, he was. Warrior, he was not. He would draw a bow on a deer, kill it, skin it, use every inch of it from horn to hoof, but he didn't have the stomach to kill men, or kill beasts who had no purpose and done him no harm. Sometimes... that is what _must_ be done."

Aela went quiet after that- Di'kana sensed a further story, but didn't chase it. There was something she wasn't saying, and whatever the reasons, they would be respected. Making the horses ready was the task focused upon instead of conversation, saddlebags slung up and belongings secured before mounting; just as first light began to creep up over the mountain peaks to the east.

Aela took the lead at first, trotting down the slope and striking off to the west where the road split. Then, when it split again, turning once more towards the north to cross the bridge and begin their long journey towards Dawnstar. The main road begun, Di'kana pressed her horse to come along side her shield-sister and ride even with her.

"So many pieces of armor." Aela marveled, shaking her head at the veritable _racket_ Di'kana made as her horse moved. "How do you not cook in the sun?"

"How do you not freeze?" Di'kana quested back, looking to Aela and her rather generous expanses of bare skin. "... Khajiit are native to much _warmer_ places. The cold does not agree with us."

" _Cold?"_ Aela laughed. "You _do_ know where we're going, right?"

"This one does. Do _you?"_

"I'll layer up as we pass Windhelm." Aela assured. "So if you're a warm-weather people, what's the _fur_ for? You'd think it would keep you warm."

"It is more to keep the sun away from the skin. The light of it is strong in Elsweyr... or so this one hears. The fur protects from harsh light, not harsh cold."

"Have you never been there?"

"... this one was born on the road." Di'kana reported, again, with a shrug. She'd never been further south than Cyrodil. "Daughter of a trader who refuses to deal in skooma. This one will let you guess what other goods come out of Elsweyr, but you will not need many tries. Such an honest living is not of great profit... Father hoped to take this one to see the sands, one day, and the jungles, but..."

"I see... at least you can have pride that he was _honest and honorable,_ though. Not many children can claim that of their parents. The world has a short supply of good people, and even one who means to be good can end up corrupted."

"True enough." Di'kana agreed, shifting in her saddle, lifting her tail from where it had rested to one side to rest it the other way. "The caravan grew rather large, almost like a small village that never held still. Father gathered other Khajiit who wanted to escape the way people judged them, or the clutches of their addictions. Mother was one of those- years of skooma had made her fragile, but father helped her become well again."

"Honorable indeed." Aela marveled. "That's a linage to be proud of, Kitten, believe you me."

Di'kana nodded, going quiet as she glanced to the left, to the east, to where the sun was rising up and throwing Whiterun's shape into sharp contrast against the brightening sky. If she squinted her eyes against the light, she could spy the shape of Jorrvaskr just over the top of the wall, and the billow of smoke that came from Tilmo adding logs to the fire first thing in the morning. From here, it looked so small, a little cloud of gray that rose up and dissipated into the deep purple dawn. In not much longer, they would pass into a valley between mountains, and Whiterun would vanish entirely. Until then, Di'kana would look at it, and wonder what Farkas was doing.

Wonder if he was lonely without her.

"Missing him already?"

Aela's voice was knowing. She'd walked in on them, after all, before Di'kana had been fully recovered. When they'd been entrenched in eachother's arms, half-dressed and wanting with the pursuit.

"This one made a promise to him." She answered with a nod. "She thought it would ease the mind over the distance... instead, the craving is only more intense."

"He'll be there when you get back, sister. He's strong, and Vilkas will keep him from doing anything stupid before we get back."

"He offered to follow... if this one left."

"You're still considering leaving?" Aela's voice carried a note of surprise.

"Not presently. A letter has been sent to confirm if it this one's family at the border. If contact is made, letters can be exchanged until the end of Skyrim's war. When the borders open... that is when the choice must be made."

"And Farkas offered to go with you?"

"Insisted, more like." Di'kana laughed faintly.

She was surprised to find herself joined- Aela's laugh was a loud and proud thing, let loose without reservation.

"... it is _that_ funny?"

"The funny part is Vilkas doesn't have a _clue._ He knows you two have taken a liking to one another, but I don't think he ever dreamed his brother would _ever_ fall for anything besides the joy of the fight. The look on his _face_ when he finds out... oh, oh that's going to be _rich._ Can I be there when you finally tell him?"

"... it may be some time."

"That's alright. I don't intend on dying anytime soon."

"Warriors rarely do."

"True, but few warriors know the world as I know it." Aela smirked as Di'kana's gaze finally tore away from Whiterun's silhouette, returning her attention to the road and their journey. "I've stalked prey as the saber does, ripped and torn with teeth, and flirted with death with no armor on my body, nothing but fang and claw to fight with. Walking such a razor's edge leads to a greater understanding of the fight, a greater awareness of opportunity and tells... and I doubt many love the hunt as I do."

Di'kana blinked. She'd been warned not to ask too many questions, and yet Aela spoke freely, _proudly_ of her beast. She had expected it might have taken several days into this journey to find an opportunity for her questions, but here it was- she would take it.

"You run often as a wolf?"

"Some would argue _too often."_ Aela confirmed with a faint grumble. "Skjor and I go many nights a week; so often we've disappeared together that there's rumor among the whelps that we are _involved_ with one another. Kodlak worries that we stir up the rumors, that the guards hear our howling as we revel in the blood and suspect that all may not be as it seems at Jorrvaskr, but such are the musing of a too-careful old man. We are not _mindless_ when we hunt, we know to stay away from the city, know to only hunt that which will not be missed."

A pause intervened, before Aela let out a sound of relief.

"You've no idea how good it feels to be able to explain that- the younger Companions don't know of the blood, and coming up with excuses when pressed is _trying._ You've no idea how difficult it is to dissuade Ria when she's convinced Skjor and I are sneaking off to bed together."

"No?" Di'kana quested, silver-penciled brow arching up high over blue eyes. "This one thinks otherwise- she is quite adamant with her ideas of whom is sweet for whom... give Ria a quill, she would likely write our stories as romantic epics of love and war. When telling the story of this one's trial, she insisted that Farkas's life was saved by this one many times over, taking harm to save him from any. Let Ria tell that story, and perchance we fell in love in the moonlight while returning to Whiterun."

"Is that _wrong_ in your case?" Aela quested. "I mean... you two were all but _inseparable_ after that."

" _Shhhh..."_ Di'kana hushed, waving a gauntleted hand. "Ria cannot know that; she would never quiet about it."

Again, the two women laughed together. At the very least, the journey was promising to be pleasant for the company.


	6. Planing the Hunt

**Author's Notes:**

Excuse me as I drag out the suspense just a tiiiiny bit longer. :3

 **I don't own Skyrim**

* * *

 **Mixing Beastblood  
** **Chapter Six – Planning the Hunt**

Leaving Whiterun's plains brought on an almost instantaneous chill; ripping winds that coursed through the mountains seeking to yank warmth away and leading Di'kana to be thankful for additional layers beneath her armor. Knowing that they'd been going to Dawnstar, a great deal of her pack had been devoted to additional garments she could put on both beneath and atop her heavy plate, kept cozy by way of a large bear fur over the top of armor and a thick shirt and trousers made of wool beneath. Aela, too, had put on more to protect from the harsher environment, casting herself with a cloak that doubtlessly was made from furs the woman had trapped and treated herself, though the sources of said fur were too numerous to name. However, she layered nothing onto her body directly; no extra clothes beneath her leather armor, no extra shirt or otherwise atop it all.

When asked, she explained that she'd rather suffer the cold in the heat of battle than suffer a loss of agility. A cloak warmed her upon her horse, but could be thrown off when the time came that it was better to be fast than comfortable.

Di'kana considered that reasoning fair, even if her own differed. It wasn't far into the mountain road that she could no longer feel her nose, ducking it down within her furs to warm it whenever Aela was not looking at her, her tail tucked up tightly around her body to avoid even the smallest part of her being exposed needlessly to the wind. She'd traveled this road plenty of times, none of this was _unexpected,_ but it didn't mean that Di'kana took any pleasure in Skyrim's bitter cold.

She also took no pleasure in their first stop along this road. As the mountains rose and the snow began to crunch beneath their horses' hooves, the sun having reached its apex long ago and beginning the twilight swing downwards, Windhelm hovered upon the horizon... a place that was characterized by a disdain for everyone who didn't look like a Nord, with those who appeared the least human receiving the majority of the scrutiny by the populous. Di'kana had some respect within the walls for solving a murder case there, but it didn't change the fact that slurs were still thrown at her when she walked the streets, and more than a dozen times she'd been accused of pick-pocketing when she'd done no such thing. It was a sore reminder that no matter what she did, in some peoples eyes she would always be a _sneaky Khajiit_ and nothing more.

It also reminded her that, compared to Windhelm, Whiterun was rather hospitable.

"Must we?" Di'kana quested, aware of the setting sun and their tiring steeds. The stables would house their mounts, feed and water them for a few septims, and while she _did_ enjoy the idea of a warm bed and food, she wondered if it was worth all else that came with entering Windhelm.

"If you would rather rest your horse in the snow, I will not stop you, but _I_ for one will be enjoying the warmth of a fire and a tankard of mead." Aela answered simply, shrugging, ever a follower that every companion was their own master... but not callously so. "But I would advise that you come inside and face them- never let them see your fear, sister. As long as they do, they will prey upon it. If you've distaste for the feeling that you do not belong, simply walk as if you do. Nay-Sayers will be less confident in their accusations, and onlookers more likely to take up your banner than theirs if you refuse them before they even try."

"Says the woman without fur. You are _welcome_ there."

"My lack of fur is conditional." Aela noted dryly, looking back to Di'kana with an arched brow that wondered how long she was going to carry on whining. "And my welcome would wear out soon as yours, if these common fools knew me to the fullest."

Blinking, Di'kana realized the insensitivity of her remark, nodding slightly as she surrendered her position. "This one values warmth over insults. There will be no sleeping in the snow."

"Very good." Aela chuckled. "We'll make a grown cat of you yet, sister. Until then, expect no coddling."

"From _you?"_ Di'kana laughed in return, a bitter thing that was eager to get out of the cold. Despite Windhelm's shape in the distance, they still had quite a ways to go before they would be through the gates and hunting up a hot meal. " _Never..._ though, a question from this one?"

"You've had _many_ questions, kit, and yet I expect you have been circling around the one you truly want to ask."

 _Oops._

"I value patience as much as anyone, but maybe after a day of riding you might cut to the chase? Even _my_ nerves grow thin."

It was true, Di'kana had been avoidant with the subject. While several opportunities had gotten her _close_ to asking, it always felt as if the moment were not quite right. Talking to Aela was not like talking to Farkas, where he'd directly offered her the opportunity to peer into his struggle with the wolf and how he felt about it. Aela made no such offers, and Kodlak's warning not to ask too many questions of the Circle was still remembered vividly. The last thing she wanted to do was to _anger_ the red headed huntress and make the rest of this hunt filled with unpleasant and awkward silence.

She pushed past her discomfort. Best to be out with it.

"... Farkas spoke to this one, about becoming like you. Like him. About the blood, and how Skjor wants this one to share in it. This one asked him what it was like to _be_ a werewolf, but his description was lacking at best. Di'kana thought to ask you, that you might say it better, and greater understanding might lead to a decision."

Aela's eyes shifted to look back at the younger girl. She was _inquisitive_ about something that most rejected on its face. The fact that she hadn't instantly drawn a blade on Farkas when he'd transformed before her was something Aela still marveled at. The further fact that they were _intimate_ was all the more surprising. And now? Here she was, asking questions and trying to figure out if she wanted to become _like_ them, her curiosities coming without judgment.

"Farkas is no conversationalist, but this is a matter that even _I_ struggle to describe clearly." The huntress admitted. "Let me ask you something first, kitten; you saw Farkas. When he changed before you, what did you think of him? When he came back to you, were you afraid?"

Di'kana went quiet for a long time, letting the sound of snow-muffled hooves be the pervading rhythm as her answer took time to build up in her head. Her feelings at that time had been more than mixed going _into_ Dustman's cairn. Coming out of it, she'd been hurt and struggling to remain conscious. Amid all of her own concerns, finding what she'd been feeling in _that_ specific moment took some consideration, and memory.

"He asked this one to help do away with his armor when the Silver Hand came. Free him of the straps so the change would not ruin it. This one was scared from being trapped, confused, did as she was asked and not knowing what would happen next. Those attacking us made claims on only his life, like this one was not there... and then..." Her head swayed, side to side. "The change was horrifying, and magnificent, in the way the dragons are both majestic and terrifying. To look upon him, know what is within him, and yet still know his kinder touch..." Di'kana trailed. Beneath her cloak, the very base of her tail fluffed a moment before smoothing; the Khajiit equivalent of an amorous blush. "He came back, smiling, joking, apologizing for frightening this one... and she sat, unable to move, staring at him. Unable to think. Just... breathing."

"Sounds like he broke you for a minute, there."

"Perchance. But it was his _voice_ that brought this one back."

"His voice?"

"This one finds it pleasurable to the ears."

"... well, I suppose everyone has _something_ they go for. What did you think of him, after? Think of _us,_ knowing what we were hiding?"

"Admiration. The world considers lycanthropy a curse, and instead the Circle celebrates it as a gift. To be so proud, so _wild,_ with no shame, this one sees it as grand and beautiful in its own way."

Aela listened from beneath her own layer of furs, nodding along. Truly, Di'kana's thoughts reminded Aela of her own when she'd been just a girl.

"To be a werewolf is to share part of yourself with the wild world around you. It is to open a vein and join nature itself in its grand balancing act of hunter and hunted. There is such _passion_ in it, truly. You will find no one in the Circle who does anything half-way; even Kodlak, calm and patient as he is, still has a tenacity that cannot be stopped by any roadblock. When one is already wild, it takes that part of them and makes it greater. When one is already patient and stubborn, that, too, is brought to bare. The beast brings out the parts of us that are already like it, and makes them the center of who we are. Honestly... I wonder what it would do to you."

"To this one?" Di'kana questioned. "Why?"

"You are already like us, in a way. Your teeth are not unlike the wolf's fangs. Your claws are sharp- I've seen the way you've had to refresh the padding on your bedposts to keep Tilmo from scolding you for your morning scratchings. You smell and hear and see more than others do, and I've seen you _fight_ with the sort of unstoppable will that usually comes _after_ someone has taken the blood, not before."

"Is that dangerous?"

It was Aela's turn to go quiet for a long while, musing upon the question. Whether or not to answer it. Eventually, she nodded beneath her cloak of furs, agreeing with herself on something before she spoke. "Not all handle the blood well." She answered. "... some are consumed by it, turn feral. They become the beast, and never come back. _Why,_ I am unsure. Maybe they take to it too greedily, and forget that they were once something else. Maybe it brought out something in them that was repressed, and when it came forth it was alien and unknown. Or maybe those traits were _too strong,_ and it was impossible to return. All I know is that it happens, and it is a true danger you should know of when you consider Skjor's offer. If you take the blood, and you do not come back to yourself..."

Aela could not bring herself to complete that thought, the quiet ominous now. The options for a feral werewolf were limited at best; either to be put down by friends, her herded into the wildest parts of the world where the rage and blood-lust would give travelers further reason to _avoid_ those places... only to be later hunted by strangers who seek to put the danger down themselves.

"Skjor would have forced this? Knowing these things?"

"He thinks passing it on is more important than anything else, particularly with Kodlak's recent... _studies."_

"You disapprove that he's looking for a cure?"

"I wouldn't call it a _cure."_ Aela snorted. "It is his right to do as he will, but the desire to shed of power to go on to some mead-swilling afterlife is something I will _never_ comprehend. He took the blood of his own will, and now he wants to put it back because he fears for the sake of his soul. One does not commit to a life of hunting only to take it back and claim they had no joy in it."

"Perhaps... but what one wants while they are young is not always the same as what they desire once aged. Kodlak has lived longer than most. If he is tired, he has the right to desire rest at the end of it all... same as hunters have the right to desire the hunt, endless and eternal."

"... I suppose so." Aela still sounded uncomfortable.

"Let us hurry." Di'kana dismissed the subject, pushing her horse into a canter. "Warm meals and beds, yes?"

" _Yes."_ Aela agreed, sure that she'd given Di'kana plenty to think about.

The girl still had to make her own choice, after all.

* * *

Farkas had a terrible time leaving the amulet alone, once he'd put it on. He found himself reaching into his armor to draw it out, rub his thumb over the engraving, whenever he thought no-one was watching him. At first, it was an action that made him smile faintly, both bewildered and pleased with whatever sort of connection he'd managed to fumble himself into. Confusing and sudden, and yet he wouldn't change what had happened nor how it came to be in the slightest.

Later, however, he found it made him miss her more. He'd been the one away so many times, heading off on jobs for the Companions, that he never really realized how much time one could spend feeling lonely when they were the one left inside the walls. He'd tried to force the feeling off, redoubling himself in the yard, training with his great sword if only to _occupy_ himself... but hefting his blade to swing and hack at the straw dummy upon its pole was an action so natural to him it was like breathing; mindless, not needing thought, so still he felt her absence in a way that worried him for how it clung onto him.

Maybe he should have made the argument to go with them. Aela would have teased him and Di'kana the whole way, yes, but it would have been better than waiting around for them to come back. _Anything_ would have been.

"Skjor is looking for you."

" _Huh?"_

Farkas's head twisted about- his brother was on the patio, watching him, projecting his voice over the sound of his blade biting into the dummy yet again. The poor thing was getting to the point where most of the straw had been beaten off of it, and Farkas's sword was beginning to hack into the pole it was all tied to.

Withdrawing the heavy weapon, he turned himself to his twin.

"Skjor, he's down in the living quarters, looking for you." Vilkas reiterated, coming down the steps of the patio to join his brother in the yard, looking at the maimed dummy. "... let's hope he has something for you to do besides punishing straw men for existing."

"I'm _bored."_ Farkas complained, shaking his head. "Better to train than do nothing."

"I've seen you bored." Vilkas scoffed. "This is _past_ bored... what's wrong?"

" _Nothing-_ and I'm not going to keep Skjor waiting." Farkas shook his head, moving to head inside. He loved his brother, but he felt as if he didn't have the words to explain what was going on with him right now... not without saying more than Di'kana wanted him to, anyhow.

Vilkas, however, wasn't having it. He turned, grabbing Farkas's shoulder, tugging him back with a questioning look on his face. The two were all but mirror images of each other; bright and shining eyes, dark hair that was thick and resisted any sort of taming besides the way Vilkas wore his shorter, height, general build- they were _twins,_ after all... but Vilkas had a lot more lines on his face from making looks like _that,_ always fussing about something. Always worried that something was building up towards trouble.

Poor bastard was usually right, too.

"Is there something I should know about?"

Farkas looked at his brother, halted in his steps, his jaw clenching for a moment before it released.

"Nothing I can talk about right now. I... I promised. It's not bad. It's... actually _really_ good, but..."

He trailed off as Vilkas stared at him. It was a very particular _look_ that could be shared between brothers and Farkas knew _exactly_ what it meant. Vilkas knew _something_ was going on, and he wanted to know what. It was a look that told Farkas not to even think for a _moment_ that he was getting away with something.

All the same, Vilkas let him go. What might have gone into a standoff, that might had further ended in the pair of them having a tussle over it, Vilkas yielded.

"Alright... but if there's a problem, don't hide from me."

"I know, brother." Farkas nodded quickly.

"And after Skjor talks to you, fix the training dummy."

" _Yeah, yeah."_ Farkas waved off the ordered chore. He'd do it, of course, he did everything his brother told him to do.

 _Eventually._ But right now he'd hold onto the hope that Skjor had something less _tedious_ for him to do. Heading inside from the yard, Farkas grabbed a hunk of cheese as he passed from the patio to Jorrvaskr itself, chomping away at it while he turned himself to the stairs and descended into the living quarters. By the time he'd arrived by Skjor's room, the cheese was gone and his hand was empty to open the door without thought towards knocking.

"You were looking for me?" Farkas asked as he sighted the man within, Skjor currently caring for his blade with a worn rag and a tub of oil to protect the recently sharped edge from rust. He sat upon the edge of his wooden bunk, the hilt of his weapon held securely in one hand while the other dipped into the oil- likely rendered bear or wolf fat, gathering up an amount on the rag and bringing it to the shining length of the sword, rubbing it up from base to tip and ensuring that the coating made it into every crevice.

He didn't look up from his task when Farkas entered, his good eye focused to his work, and the dead one half-closed as his face squinted and scrutinized the metal in his care. "I was. I have a task you could help me with. Please, come in, shut the door."

Skjor's voice had something in it that made Farkas wary. He wasn't sure _what-_ the man sounded calm, quiet, speaking softly and bidding the younger man closer... and yet, Farkas got a feeling in his gut that demanded he be tense, alert.

Within him, there was a desire to growl. The beast stirred, watching and waiting for a sign of _treachery_.

Still, he did as he was told. He stepped inside and shut the door. "What did you want?"

"Aela's departure was an abrupt decision, one that was of poor timing." Skjor explained. "She and I had been hunting something together during our nights- we think it might have been a feral. The last few nights, she and I had been tracking it together, and before she left the last trail we found had it heading up into the mountains just south of Whiterun. If it _is_ a feral, it would be right to put it down before it comes down and causes harm to any of the local farms or people, but I would think it a poor idea to hunt it by myself. If you had the time, I would like it if you helped me. We could go tonight, ensure it doesn't have time to wander elsewhere."

"Have you told the old man about this?"

"He's busy with his own studies." Skjor disregarded, turning his blade several times before deciding he was pleased with his work, tossing the rag into the tub of oil and standing up. "All the work of _finding_ this creature has already been done, Farkas, I just need a strong partner to finish the job. Don't tell me you're not equal to the task?"

"I didn't say _that..._ where do you want to meet?"


	7. Dear One

**Author's Notes:**

Long chapter! Yay? I think so. XD Anywhoozles, lets keep this show on the road! :D

 **I don't Own Skyrim**

* * *

 **Mixing Beastblood  
** **Chapter Seven – Dear One**

Moon rise brought a sense of growing warmth upon the back of Farkas's shoulders.

Where most would walk in Skyrim with layers to protect them from the cold nights, it appeared to Farkas that those with the blood tended not to feel it once they were bathed in moonlight. He knew it for himself, that was for certain; that where glittering silver light touched him body bathed him in the sort of radiating warmth most associated with the sun, only... _agitating._ This wasn't the sort of beams that encouraged one to sprawl out like a happy house cat before the window, chasing the bright streaming beams wherever they happened to fall on the ground. No, no, this heat was the kind that woke him up and made the feeling of _fur_ spread like a phantom over his skin while he licked his canines to be assured the change was not beginning before he bid it so. The wolf _knew_ the moons, wanted to run beneath it, and made the man rub his exposed skin with a rasping inhale while passing out of Whiterun and striking out for the place that Skjor wanted to meet him.

Maybe that was the warmth. It wasn't heat from the moons, it was the beast's _breath_ upon his shoulders, awaiting its time with impatient pants, growling and huffing while Farkas maintained his human shape until he was away from the prying eyes of simpler people who would not understand. The farmers were off to bed, but the guards were ever-present around Whiterun and on the road, carrying their torches and greeting Farkas with familiar smiles. "Companion. Off so late?"

"Some things can only be hunted at night." Farkas answered roughly, forcing his hands away from himself, not to worry his skin while the hair on the back of his neck bristled up, prickling all the way up to the top of his scalp. He didn't stop walking to engage in conversation, leaving it as a passing remark.

"Best of luck." The guard called after him, turning to continue his own path.

 _Luck,_ always handy to have. Warriors rarely gave luck its due when speaking of their battles. Most would claim that it was their skill, their power, their pure ruthless will that allowed them to emerge victorious in their battles, but _luck_ played a part, too. Whether or not an animal was wounded before the hunt began, the way the trees fell to make a creature stumble- or the _hunter,_ for that matter. The weather, the light, the very rotation of the _damned moons-_

Farkas couldn't help it, a deep and rumbling growl coming out of him. It was poor rumor that strong moonlight _forced_ werewolves to abandon their human skin, but it certainly didn't _help_ in the urges to run free and wild. If there _was_ a feral out there, Farkas had no doubt that it would be running tonight, eagerly sniffing to sate it's thirst for the hunt.

It always saddened him to do this. Putting down a werewolf who couldn't handle their gift was an unhappy task, but it was _needed_ if people like him and the Companions were to continue living among others. If warriors for hire refused to hunt down werewolves, it would give weight to the accusations that there were beasts among them. Actively seeking them out put them in better standing with those around them, and ensured that people they cared about would not fall prey to their own kind... however _insane_ the individual members had gone.

Leaving the city, Farkas's steps took him to the left and down the road past the meadery, and then right to follow the path that, if followed to its end, would take him towards Riverwood. However, he wasn't going that far. Stepping up the steep incline of the mountain slope, only mildly tamed by the road, he stepped away from the road where a sharp ridge could be followed into a thick stand of trees. To his right, he could see Whiterun's faint shadow in the night sky, given definition by the fires that lit up the streets. At this time of night, those fires looked like tiny flickering stars, pale examples of their cousins that burned up in the sky.

Upon this ridge, there was a massive hollowed-out stump that mushrooms grew on. Within, Farkas spied Skjor's armor and clothes; the man was already here, probably trying to pick up the trail where he and Aela had last found it. Sniffing, he could _smell_ the elder wolf's recent presence. Farkas was probably only moments behind him.

Doing away with his armor felt like inviting insanity, plates of metal removed, clothes tugged off, and the moonlight- how it _burned,_ like standing too close to a bonfire. There was delight in the warmth, but then there was _too much,_ making his skin feel too tightly stretched over his body as he tossed his things into the stump to be easily found later.

Standing naked in the moonlight, the last thing left on his person was the amulet Di'kana had given him. He'd hesitated on taking it off- would the wolf's neck be thick enough to snap the twine? He didn't want to lose it out in the wilds, but he didn't want to take it off, either.

Better safe than sorry, he slipped it off of his head and stashed it inside of his trousers where they sat on top of the pile inside the stump. No need for a coon to see something shiny and steal it away while he was busy.

At this point, his breathing was heavy, like he'd run miles and was desperate to fill his lungs. The _tension_ in his body made his posture curve downwards, hands falling to the earth and fingers digging into the turf. Around him, he could _hear_ the world, every chattering animal and singing insect, every creaking tree and the flow of the mountain's river through it all. Deep inhales beneath that burning moonlight made him struggle harder, holding onto himself until the moment _he_ willed it. It was something Vilkas had taught him when it came to the change, that if he wanted to remain in control he had to ensure it never came to him without his permission.

But still, it _called_ to him. The siren song of the wild world, invading his senses and making his spine arch upwards and his head drop down. Brawny shoulders gathered together, knees bent, toes curled into the earth and joyed in the loamy scent released by the action.

 _Now._

The sound that left him was a mixture between a man's scream and a beast's roar. All that desperately hoarded air, all those deep and ragged breaths, driven out as joints crunched into new positions and muscles rippled into their new bulk and angles. Growls grew deeper as the barrel of his chest widened, curled digits ripping at the grasses of the forest floor as claws morphed from human nails. Patches of fur found their way forth, the elongating of his spine forming into a bushy-furred tail, a similar pushing of his skull taking him from the too-round human shape to a canine muzzle that opened to gulp a fresh breath of air.

This time, when it was expelled, it was into a howl. A long and joyous howl at the moons.

The transformation never took more than seconds, but it changed the world that he lived in. The things that called to him were so much more _intimate_ now, singing with his blood as he snuffled at the ground and sought out Skjor's scent to follow him wherever he'd gone. _Not far,_ he was sure, _not far at all._ A few steps were taken, rising up to two legs while one long arm remained on the ground to balance him, tail taking to its job quickly as he curiously tried to pick which direction Skjor had run off in. At first, it appeared as if he'd followed the ridge onto the rocky face of the mountain, but...

That was confusing. Why did it seem like it curled around to double-back?

There was a yelp as Farkas found himself knocked aside by a sudden impact. It was a hit that, if not for a luckily placed tree, would have knocked him directly off of the ridge and down the slope in an uncontrolled tumble. Instead, his newly furry back hit hard against the trunk of a grand pine, birds taking flight from it with the shock and crying out their complaints in the most colorful language of the forest.

Rear legs tucked up, kicking out to remove whatever had knocked him over. He found another body, burning like his, burning like his blood under the moons, shoving it away and snarling viciously as he tried to bring himself upright, twisting quickly to find his feet beneath him rather than beside him.

Terrifying yellow eyes met each other- two pairs that stared upon each other, openly snarling. Farkas might have suspected that _this_ was the feral, if not for one important detail.

This wolf, massive and powerful even in comparison to others like him, only had one good eye. One blazing topaz of unearthly yellow that glared down up on Farkas with teeth bared and claws ready to rend. The other was milky and dead, useless but to seemingly glow with the same eerie light that the moons did.

" _Skjor."_

Farkas addressed him through his maw, fur bristling up in aggression. Speaking was a chore of the human mind, but it was still _possible._ What the _hell_ was he playing at?

" _Whelp."_ Skjor snarled back, dropping to all fours and his ears flattening back to his head, clearly speaking rage in a language all animals understood.

It was the kind of language that demanded submission. That wanted Farkas to just roll over and expose his belly-

 _Like hell he would._

The younger wolf answered with a roar, throwing himself at Skjor with arms wide to grapple with him, fully intent to bring him to the ground and make him explain himself- an intent that failed when Skjor chose not to engage him directly and instead duck out of the way, slashing after Farkas as the he charged past him. Talons found fur and only _snatched_ at the skin, leaving behind tiny cuts that were forgotten in the moons' hypnotizing heat.

Farkas had expected to run into the cliff that rose up over this ridge- he knew this place, and knew that there was a rocky face just past where Skjor had been standing, hidden in the intense shadows produced by such bright moonlight. Instead, his feet tangled in what felt to be unearthed roots, and his body tumbled down with an undignified yelp.

 _Ice,_ it felt like _ice_ stabbing into his ankles, snarling and kicking but it only served to further ensnare him. Skjor was following now, slowly, leisurely, looking down at his trapped brother and letting out a strange, guttural sound that might have been a _laugh_ coming through his hulking shape.

In the shine of the moonlight, tiny little reflections could be seen in the roots that had tangled about Farkas's rear paws- _tiny fragments of sharp silver._

" _What is this, Skjor?!"_

Skjor dropped to all fours, carefully avoiding the trap he'd made by going wide around it, crossing near the tree stump that they'd put all their things inside. _"Just ensuring I have your undivided_ _ **attention**_ _when I tell you to_ _ **know your place,**_ _whelp."_

What the _hell_ was this? Farkas knew Skjor could sometimes overreact when someone angered him, but this? _This_ was beyond the usual violence he expected from this man. This wasn't retribution or lashing out, this was _torture,_ using _silver_ on a brother wolf. The ice seemed to spread through him, making it harder to try and kick free. His body twisted, reaching down to try and untangle himself. One leg came free, but not before the tiny blades of silver had slashed into his palms, one feeling as if it had been shredded and the other only tagged before pulling away.

When Skjor grew closer, his head turned, jaws snapping and teeth showing in full vicious display. _Useless,_ he wasn't close enough to _bite,_ but there was nothing Farkas wanted more than to make him _bleed._ Nothing more than to rip out his throat, _slice into his ribcage and tare out his heart, eat it right in front of him while he gasped his last-_

The ice made his limbs go numb, like plunging them into a frozen lake. The heat that had called to him, the burning of his blood under the moonlight, did nothing to drive it off. Silver _killed_ the fire, wounding far more effectively than any other blade.

" _I know you and Aela have been whispering behind my back... I let it slide, **whelps and their games-** but you do not understand the greater cause being fought by your elders. I will make this **very** clear, so even **you** can understand..." _

Skjor's massive beclawed hand suddenly flew in against Farkas's chest, forcing him down onto his back. Farkas's less damaged hand flashed out, reaching to strike some kind of blood, seeking to fight back as his jaws snapped uselessly at the air, but Skjor knew it was coming and snatched the coming blow with his other hand, forcing it down and then _stepping_ upon the younger wolf's wrist to keep it down.

Panting and suffering silver's poison, Farkas was all but helpless.

The beast couldn't _accept_ it, still thrashing and causing Skjor's claws to prick into his chest, beads of thick red blood welling up and oozing with his hasty and desperate motions. He wouldn't still, _couldn't_ stop himself from the ceaseless struggle. He _needed_ freedom.

" _You will speak no more to the kitten about the blood, or I will see to it that you wish you were never born."_

 _That_ got him to still.

 _That_ was what this was all about? Was Skjor _that_ paranoid, that desperate for Di'kana to take the blood without question? What happened to everyone in the Companions being their own master, making their own decisions? What the hell was Skjor thinking, to resort to _this?_

And _threatening-_ Farkas had trouble comprehending it all... but found himself letting out a husky laugh of his own. _"Or what? You'll rip my heart out?"_

He'd not let Di'kana charge blindly into a choice like this just because Skjor had threatened him. Even with his dirty tricks, Farkas had no doubt that his shield siblings would stand against him if they knew of what Skjor was doing. Just telling Vilkas would put Skjor had horrible disadvantage against a pair of twin wolves who hunted as one. And _Kodlak-_ the old man would have no trouble at all rallying the whole of the circle to drive Skjor out-

" _No."_ Skjor responded easily. _"I will make you watch as I rip out **hers."**_

The laughter stopped.

" _Ah... I see you understand."_

Skjor sounded _pleased-_ but Farkas felt as if a silver blade had been slipped into his chest for the way he suddenly arrested on the spot. Skjor would go that far? He was so intent on sharing the gift, he was willing to kill Di'kana if she refused it?

Had he gone completely mad?

" _And not a word to your fool brother or the old man... understand?"_

Silence. There was no desire to answer. Farkas's head tucked down, over his neck. Pinned he was, but he refused to expose his throat as well as his belly. It was a last signal of defiance, and he would cling to it while staring up, every breath a heavy growl that rumbled through the whole of his being.

" _ **Understand?"**_

" _... perfectly."_

There wasn't much choice.

* * *

"Temper your eagerness, Kitten; you want him to think you can't function without him?"

"This one missed him- there is nothing wrong with letting him _see_ that."

The hunt had gone well, a fact that pleased Di'kana to no end. The test in the yard had been a short bout with Vilkas that had barely gotten started before it was called to a halt. To go out into the world, to once again accomplish something, only built upon the confidence she'd been gathering since she'd hefted her new axe onto her back. Cast over the rump of her horse, three snowy saber pelts which she intended to personally treat and transform into a new travel garment. In the snows of northern Skyrim, it would make her and her horse look more like the world they traveled through, and less likely to garner unwanted attention. While the bear fur served her better in the deep valley forests, something so brightly white would make her blend into the falling snow like a white mirage.

That thought pleased her almost as much as the thought of seeing Farkas, though they'd only been gone for five days. He'd taken longer absences from her, back when she'd been recovering, and she never realized the _excitement_ that could come with returning home. Spying Whiterun past the mountain slopes, she could feel her heart thumping away against her ribs, eager to see him and tell him of her success.

If they'd not been riding all day, her horse already tired, she would have spurred her mount into a gallop... but she would not be unkind when home was so close. Her mare, too, was likely looking forward to her own stall, a bucket of oats, and _maybe_ an apple for a journey well traveled.

"Ah, but what's the _fun_ in letting him know it?" Aela scoffed, shaking her head. "Let him linger in suspense, it will make him all the more eager for you when you finally do go to him."

"That's torture." Di'kana shook her head, buzzing her lips at her shield sister. "Whenever he returned from his travels, he always came straight to this one, wherever she was."

"Yeah, so? He's a _man,_ he's not supposed to be able to control his impulses. He _should_ be a slave to the thought of you. You, however, are a shield-sister; some kinds of torture intensify the feeling of relief."

Di'kana's brow rose up high, looking back at Aela for several moments before the pair of them began to laugh again. The woman was speaking in hyperbole, not serious about her claims.

"This one is not the sort for those games." Di'kana waved the thoughts off. "... she would not be able to stand it."

"Damn you've got it _bad."_ Aela snickered. "When are you going to ask that poor bastard to be yours?"

"... when this one is ready."

How many people were going to ask when she was going to marry? She understood that courting didn't last a long time in Skyrim, that people picked their partners quickly because the dangers of living were numerous, but the amount of _pressure_ that could be heaped upon a young couple seemed undue.

"You wait too long, someone else is going to snatch him up."

"Promises have been made." The Khajiit girl assured.

"Then why wait? If you've already spoken about it, agreed..." Aela shook her head, not understand it. Maybe Nords just weren't used to thinking about it that way. "Never mind. Whatever you're doing, if it's working for you, there's little use arguing it with you."

"Aela _learns-_ miracles _do_ happen."

" _Hey!"_

Again, their laughter was the background to their travel. Aela never imagined she'd take such a shine to the newest member of the Companions' family, but the two got along quite well.

Despite Di'kana's impatience, the conversation made the journey pass by faster. Sooner than she thought, she and Aela were ascending the slopes of Whiterun's rocky perch, dismounting their horses and bringing them to the stable to be cared for- again, with a few septims to ensure the stable-hands treated their steeds well after their travel... and a few more that would see their possessions delivered to Jorrvaskr for them, rather than carrying in all their furs and other spoils themselves. It was late in the day, and the desire was to _rest_ as far as Aela was concerned... and Di'kana had her own desires on the evening.

Entering into Whiterun's gates, walking together up to the square beneath the Gildergreen's shade, they parted ways at the doors into Jorrvaskr. Aela, to the Skyforge to see her weapon, armor, and shield cared for. Di'kana, inside, to seek her dear one.

Jorrvaskr was same as it ever was, Ria and Arthis currently at the table and sating their bellies while Tilmo rushed about, picking up empty dishes from what appeared to be the main rush of meal-seekers having already come and gone. Upon seeing Di'kana, Ria perked up, smiling and waving from across the table. Arthis looked too, given the cat a nod before returning to his food. Di'kana nodded at the both of them, turning onward to the stairs and to descend into the living quarters.

She found herself sniffing, now, seeking a recent trace of Farkas. She found it, pulling her helm from her head and letting her ears perk up as they pleased as she followed the trail to his room, assured in his presence and, for possibly the first time, attempting to enter without knocking.

Surprise coursed through her when she found the door _locked._

" _Damnit Vilkas-_ I told you, _leave me alone, I'm_ _ **fine."**_

Locked. Why was his door locked? Farkas _never_ locked his door, despite how his shield siblings often let themselves into his room without announcement. His voice was a harsh growl, snarling and raw over a voice that didn't want to be speaking, and his words suggested that Vilkas had attempted entry before her, and met the same roadblock.

Her enthusiasm was quickly morphing into something else. Something afraid and panicked that something would trouble her dear one so much that he'd _lock himself away-_

There was consideration towards announcing herself, but what if he refused her, too? She decided in that moment, she needed to know what was going on. Like a fight, she considered his not knowing it was her an element of surprise, and she would _use_ it.

Glancing back, she ensured no one was about the living quarters, no one to see her... before she bent to pick the lock. It was a skill she trained more for treasure hunting than sneaking and stealing, but it was a skill she had, none the less. She always had a handful of lock picks, never knowing when they might be necessary... she just never suspected she'd be forcing entry upon _his room._

" _Gods,_ did you go and get the key from Tilmo? I said _I want to be left alone!"_

His door opened to her fiddling within a few seconds, the lock giving way and the latch allowing the door to swing inwards. As it did, it jolted with the impact of a thrown bottle that shattered and made Di'kana jump and yelp with shock. "Farkas, it's _me."_

" _Kitten? Wha..._ why didn't you say so...? _Wait, never mind_ , please, don't, don't look at me..."

By the time he'd said it, it was too late. She'd been stepping to peer in already, to understand what had him like this, too eager to go to him that none could really stop her. By the time he'd said _don't,_ she'd already seen him, and the image was _not pleasing._

He was laid up in his bed, arm still outstretched from having thrown a bottle at the door when it had opened. He was without his armor, smelling of mead more than his usual scent dictated. No, if the reddened flush of his cheeks were anything to go by, he was _drunk,_ gaping at her sudden appearance with glassy eyes that might have born tears at a time before she'd entered the room.

He wore pants, but the rest of him was unclothed. His chest, bandaged, a hand left lame to one side with angry red raised scars on the palm, and great bands of cloth secured about his ankles like shackles of white fabric. Perchance the only _positive_ within the whole of this picture was that he was still wearing the amulet she'd given him, shining with the heave of his chest.

"... what _happened?"_

He stared at her, blinking, swallowing. He looked to his empty hand, the one that had thrown his bottle of mead, regretting the loss of his drink and laying his head back with gritted teeth. On every breath, he growled like a wolf in pain, warning others away.

She left the door, approaching him without fear. Door shut behind her, her helm was left at the end of his bed, sitting next to him and carefully taking his damaged hand into hers.

His growling grew louder, but he didn't yank away from her. Holding his hand, she looked to him, hoping he would lower his gaze to meet hers... but he didn't. Sniffing at the damage, at what appeared to have been vicious and terrible cuts not too long ago, she gave into an instinct to _lick_ at the damage like any animal would lick a wound to clean it.

Among Khajiit, a mother would lick a wound for a child, or a loved one. It was affection, for the tender and trusted. She hoped he understood it.

"Kitten..."

She looked up again- his chin had lowered, his eyes meeting hers.

"Tell this one what happened?" She pleaded.

His jaw clenched. Unclenched, clenched, she could see it as he seemed to chew upon his words before anything left his mouth.

"... Skjor-"

"Skjor did this?" She didn't let him finish the thought. At once, her posture changed. Ears swept back. Where she'd entered in, looking forward to spending a calmer night with her dear wolf, there was a _fury_ that found itself within her chest that would not be refused.

"Di'kana, _listen to me-"_

" _Did Skjor do this to you?"_

Her demand was clear, visible fur bristling up.

"He did, but please-"

She reached out to him, pressing a finger to his lips. Hissing, she hushed him.

"Did he threaten over the blood?" She quested. "Did Skjor do this because of this one?"

Her finger withdrew, waiting.

"He did, but... he didn't threaten _me,_ the threatened _you-"_

" _After hurting you."_

" _Damnit, Di'kana,_ listen to me!" Farkas's voice raised up, trying to break through the single-minded desire that was no doubt coursing through her. The desire to strike back, to rip Skjor's throat out in retribution. "Don't, please, don't..."

" _Don't what?"_ The Khajiit girl demanded. "Don't strike back? Take this, allow it to be, and think Skjor can harm those dear to this one?" Her head shook with violence. " _I will not._ Is he still standing? Undamaged while you lay here? _Why?_ Why not rise _now?_ You are but one, fine enough, but this one and Aela are back now, there is _strength in numbers, we could-"_

Whatever thoughts she'd been having were brought to cease when he reached out for her. It was sudden, both arms taking a grip about her that demanded her closer than she was, yanked her into his lap and held her there in a protective way that could _only_ be inspired by fear.

 _He feared for her._

" _If I told anyone, he was going to try and kill you."_

 _Oh._

Anger didn't fade. It clung on, a roaring need within her that would not be ignored. She _needed_ to strike back, somehow... but for this moment, it was Farkas that needed her. She responded to his embrace, holding him like he held her.

"Do you think he could?"

"... I don't want to gamble and be wrong."

She was quiet, aware of the feeling. She didn't fault Farkas for thinking that she might be too weak to defend herself- Skjor was _frightening,_ any one of the Companions, pitted against him alone, had cause for fear... but fear didn't change the fact that he'd gone too far.

" _This one shall make a plan, dear Wolf." She promised. "This will not go unpunished."_


	8. Surrender

**Author's Notes:**

Holy crap we're still going, despite all the bullshit currently going on in my life. Long story short, had a toxic friend, cut toxic friend out of life, dealing with aftermath.

BUT hey, at least we're still writing. XD

 **I don't own Skyrim**

* * *

 **Mixing Beastblood  
** **Chapter Eight – Surrender**

There was a crushing feeling of dread that surrounded the fact that Aela had done exactly what Skjor had told her not to. More than once in the night, she'd started at a sound, thinking that he was coming into her room again to glower over her, to come suddenly and viciously to exact punishment for her defiance. Outside of these episodes, sleep gave her no peace as it was haunted by the agitation of her beast, dreaming of chasing and hunting Skjor for this horrible feeling, only to end up _running away_ when he turned out to be too strong to fight by herself.

Such anxiety didn't befit a huntress. It made her sick with herself, getting up many times to stand up and pace her room. She _could_ have gone out, but was it safe? Who was she to even guess if Skjor was lightening, watching, and would assume that sneaking out in the middle of the night was another sign of betrayal?

The fear of such was enough to keep her in her room, travel-tried bones gaining no relief as she spent the eve fussing over her bow, un-stringing and re-stringing it over and over again so the task would keep her busy for the time that sleep was refused. Restless hours that only knew their end as the sounds of other people stirring in Jorrvaskr reached her ears. Her head twisted, a frown tightened across her face... and yet, she never questioned if what she was doing, what she'd _done,_ had been the right thing.

She'd given honest answers to her shield-sister. Di'kana had asked questions, and she had answered. The only other action would have been to _lie,_ and that would not do. That would _never_ do.

She sat in bed several moments more, wondering if she should even bother with getting up. She felt lethargic, but also hungry... and if she missed breakfast, Skjor would come find her. The last thing she wanted was to be _alone_ with him. Finally, her bow was set aside, and her legs swung over to the floor for her to stand up.

Looking to her door, she blinked as she realized something was there that wasn't before. A slip of paper, slipped in beneath, sitting on the floor. How long had it been there? Aela did not know. She'd not noticed when it had been pushed in, but there was no doubt the note was for her, her name written on it.

She hesitated only a moment, approaching to pick it up. By pure sense of smell, she knew it was from Di'kana- the kitten had a unique scent, not of Skyrim. Not of Nords. There was something to her that smelled faintly of something exotic and sweet... but there was another scent on the note, as well. Another pair of hands it had gone through, and a scent that covered all of Jorrvaskr- _Tilmo._

Passing notes seemed rather silly, but Aela would give the benefit of the doubt before she allowed herself to dismiss the missive. Standing before her door, she flipped it open to read.

 _Aela,_

 _Skjor hurt Farkas while we were gone.  
_ _Do not let him know that you know. I have a plan.  
_ _I wanted you to know why I was taking action before I did so.  
_ _Skjor is watching everyone. He isn't sleeping. I smell  
_ _him in the halls, hear his breathing. I penned  
_ _this note in the yard and gave it to Tilmo, she  
_ _should have brought it to you. She is the only one Skjor  
_ _doesn't watch._

 _I cannot let this stand. Skjor must pay._

 _Burn this note after you read it._

 _-Di'kana_

Aela felt as if her eyebrows might very well ascend beyond her hairline for how high they rose up. At first, she hadn't been able to get past the first line. She read it, but then re-read it, as if she could not believe the arrangement of letters on parchment that spelled a message she simply did not wish to comprehend. Once she _did_ move on from that point, she had an untenable number of questions and no answers. Skjor had gone that far? What had he done? _How_ had he done it that Vilkas hadn't already taken some kind of bloody revenge?

There was a wondering, wondering if Skjor had completely lost his mind. What in _hell_ had him acting like this?

Above all the rest, however, was the fact that Di'kana said she had a plan. What _kind_ of plan, Aela had to wonder... and what was the girl going to do without telling anyone else what it was?

Did she intend on taking Skjor on by herself?

Aela could understand it- just _reading_ that Farkas had been hurt made Aela want to run out of her room and sound a rallying cry... but Skjor spent more time with the whelps than she did. They would take his side if someone suddenly cried foul and caused a split in the ranks. Aela tended not to speak to any of the youngers when they first joined unless they approached her. People like Arthis, Njada, and Ria- but Skjor? Skjor was the gruff old dog that hung about with the younglings, if begrudgingly so, to advise them in their endeavors.

Suddenly, Aela realized that he'd been quietly _gathering support_ among the youngers. It all fell into place too easily. The younger members of the Circle, herself, Vilkas and Farkas, they all _grew up_ with Skjor watching over them in the exact same way, and only saw flashes of his temper when they angered him... the very reason why he was able to so easily scare them into complacency _now._

Did Kodlak realize this? Aela was sure the old man had to see it, he'd been around longer than Skjor had been. Seeing it in this way, now, the pair appeared as _rivals..._ and Skjor had a very different direction in mind than Kodlak did. A direction that, personally, Aela would have been in support of if his methods were not crossing so many lines.

All that considered, Aela could not possibly allowed Di'kana to take on Skjor by herself. Whatever plan the cat had made, she would simply have to figure Aela into it, because she wasn't going to _wait down here like a frightened pup._

Crumpling the note, she did as Di'kana asked and tossed it into the glowing embers of her fireplace, blowing on it until the paper caught fire and burned to ashes, ensuring no shred of it remained identifiable. Turning to her door, it no longer felt like a terror to be avoided. The idea of running into Skjor was now exactly what she wanted- leaving her room felt like picking up a cause, like going to war, but not for glory and country-

No, this was for the sake of dignity, and her _family._

 _This would not pass._

* * *

"You sent me something, Kitten?"

Di'kana's morning had been spent on the patio overlooking the yard at the back of Jorrvaskr, sitting comfortably in a chair and without her armor- quite the change from the recent days on horseback, and her body was glad for it. As the sun rose up over Whiterun's walls and shined onto her black fur, she had actually found herself purring in the radiating warmth while munching away at her breakfast of bread and fish. Then again, that was not all she'd been doing that morning; she'd cleared space enough for parchment, quill, and ink. During the first light of the day she'd been busily scribbling, but that was all over and done with now, the ink bottle corked and the quill laid atop the parchment.

"This one did." She responded, turning lazily in her chair, tail giving a little flop this way and that as her head raised up to greet the one who stood behind her, holding the note that had brought this meeting to pass.

"You could have just come down and knocked on my door, youngling."

"Could have." She agreed, shrugging. "Alas, it seems the Companions are rather _afraid_ of talking these days... perchance you'd know something of that?"

Skjor's good eye focused on her, trying to suss out exactly what she was trying to say to him.

"I take it you've seen Farkas since you've returned?"

She nodded, ears sweeping back with a huffing sigh. "He sent this one from his room, threw a bottle at the door."

" _That_ was what I heard... I hope he didn't hurt you? … you two seem to have become quite close."

"This one thought so." A musing tone, mildly hurt, looking away as the movements of her tail became a more agitated twitch. "... this one feels _isolated,_ both Aela and Farkas refuse to speak with her of late."

"So you send a note to _me?"_ Skjor made a face- still not understanding whatever it was she was doing. "I don't know their minds, why they behave the way they do."

 _Liar._

"To speak in confidence." She answered, standing up from her chair and gesturing around. No one was in the yard, yet. It was early, the Companions still taking their morning meal at the table inside. "Not to be seen going to get you, not to have you seen, either inviting this one into your room or following after to some lonely place. It has felt as if this one has been _watched_ of late, and it is distasteful." She shuddered, fur about her neck and shoulders fluffing for a moment. "This one has... a request."

"Then I suggest you ask it before the day burns away, kit. I've got things to do, too."

"This one wants the blood."

The older man blinked, taken aback. She asked it clearly, almost sternly- like she _expected_ him to tell her no.

This action was one of capitulation, but she wouldn't let him think that he'd cornered her into this decision. No, no, she wanted him to think that she took the course he wanted of her own free mind. That she was reaching out for it, rather than having it shoved against her.

A faint smile appeared on Skjor's scarred face. A tugging upon the grizzled piece of meat he used to express himself, even if it vanished a second later. "We shouldn't discuss this here, kit. Meet me later, tonight, at the Underforge."

"Underforge?" She quested.

"It's a secret place, beneath the Skyforge." He explained. "I'll meet you outside, tonight, when the city is dark and the lesser-minded have excused themselves to their beds." He assured. "Until then, don't wander too far, okay? Tonight, you shall be _reborn..._ I'd suggest you prepare with rest and food. You'll feel as if you've gone without either for a year when it's over."

"Where will you be?" Di'kana quested.

"Preparing as well." He nodded. "There's much to do, kitten. If you see Aela, tell her that I've gone to double-check the cache to ensure we are prepared. She will know what I mean."

"... this one will pass the message."

"Excellent." Skjor nodded, the old dog suddenly _eager._ "Remember, tonight, don't be late."

"Of course."

She watched as he turned to suddenly hustle away.

She had to wonder how much he _suspected._ It was clear he recognized her behavior had not been entirely ordinary, but there was a _plan_ that hinged upon him being at least somewhat taken in by her own manipulations. She had to hope that his enthusiasm for his own goals outweighed any suspicions that might have been roused in their exchange.

She didn't have too long to ponder on it- the door to Jorrvaskr opened, and Aela's head popped out. In fact, Di'kana had known she'd been there for a while, having seen the door open just a crack while she'd been talking with Skjor. "Eavesdropping, sister." Di'kana noted, looking to her. "Not the first thing this one would expect of you."

" _What are you doing?"_

It was a hushed demand, the red headed huntress approaching quickly with a dismayed expression on her face.

"What does it look like? Di'kana is giving Skjor what he wants." She answered with a shrug.

"This is your plan? _Surrender?"_

"Part of it." Di'kana's tone remained even, calm. "Trust this one, please."

"No, I can't let you do this... you're not doing this because you _want_ it, you're doing this because Skjor is _forcing_ you."

" _No."_

Di'kana's answer bore steel within it, blue eyes looking up to Aela.

"This one wants it. Not for the reasons he wants, but this one wants it none the less. _I_ made this decision, Aela. Skjor's actions played a part, yes, but all actions play a part... in the end, this one might have said yes without his shoving, if later on."

"Then why are you doing it now? Di'kana, please, let me know at least some piece of what you're planning. I imagine Farkas can't be happy with this either; does he know?"

"He accepts that I am under my own power. He knows what is needed... he also knows he cannot stop me." An ear twitched as she continued to stare. When she'd first joined the companions, she'd been bidden to look into Kodlak's eyes so that he could judge her with his own gaze. At that time, she'd put effort into giving him the strongest impression she could... but all the effort in the world could not achieve the razor's edge in her gaze, now. _"Neither can you."_

"... alright."

Finally, Aela yielded. Di'kana could tell she didn't like it, a tight frown on her face, but at least Skjor wasn't around to see it.

"I assume you heard his message, then?"

"I did."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"... a new wolf is full of vigor, life... and rage. It's important to have a place to bring them where there is plenty to hunt, and in sating their hunger their first transformation can be _eased_ to a certain degree. We pick a destination, and place a cache of clothes, armor, weapons, and such."

"So Skjor intends to _use_ this one."

"For an attack on the Silver Hand, yes." Aela admitted, nodding. "We found a base belonging to one of theirs... what better place to let a new wolf loose than amid a nest of werewolf hunters?"

That was new information, such that Di'kana took thoughtfully, nodding faintly. Her own plans had more than a chance of ruining Aela's and Skjor's, but she truly did not _care-_ beneath her calm demeanor, there was a _rage_ that would not be quelled.

Not until she'd extracted her pound of flesh for what Skjor had done to Farkas. What he'd put him and Aela through. Until that debt was settled, she had very little care for anything else.

Within her, an inferno burned that would eat Skjor alive if given the chance.

"How far is the place Skjor is going?"

"It should keep him away for the day. Why?"

"Farkas has been holed up in fear. Skjor threatened to rip this one's heart out if Farkas spoke to his brother or Kodlak. With Skjor gone, such restrictions can be forgotten... and Vilkas will likely tare down a wall soon if his worries are not sated. Skjor has what he wants, his threats are pointless to uphold, now."

"He... _gods."_ Aela's face was cut by a deep frown that did not know whether to be enraged or regretful. "All this fuss over you... he's truly lost his mind."

"This one would like to know _why..._ Skjor is acting a man possessed... all the same, Di'kana shall go to Vilkas, gather some food, and bring Farkas breakfast. Coming?"

"He's not left his room?"

"Not for days." Di'kana confirmed. "Lest to relieve himself. Not even Tilmo has managed to go into his room."

"Goodness... yes, I think I will come with."

Di'kana nodded, going inside to meet with Vilkas- the man appeared to be waiting for her. Between the three of them they were able to gather a verity of food; bread, cheese, fruit, meat, nuts; a small feast by any measure. The fact that they were taking so much from the table earned them looks from a few of the youngers, but none stopped them as they proceeded down the stairs with it. Di'kana headed the group, leading the way to Farkas's room and knocking gently upon the door.

" _Kitten...?_ It's open... you can come in."

"Skjor is gone for the day." Di'kana informed. "... there are people who want to see you."

There was a long stretch of quiet, tense and fearful.

" _Vilkas?"_

"Here, brother." Vilkas's voice sounded overwhelmingly relived that the reaction hadn't been a demand to be left alone.

"Me too, ice brain." Aela threw in. "The Kitten's plan seems to be working, whatever the hell it is."

"Alright, alright, come in... just don't yell, okay?"

Such a request got a low whistle out of Aela as Di'kana opened the door. "Goodness... you're actually _hungover?_ How much have you been drink- _oh my..."_

" _Farkas-"_

Aela and Vilkas saw him at the same time, entering into the room and making it rather crammed between the four of them. Burdens of food were left at the foot of Farkas's bed while Di'kana herself closed the door. Aela and Vilkas rushed to Farkas's side, wanting to examine his wounds. Aela could guess that this was what Skjor did to him, but Vilkas's words made it clear he'd heard nothing of his brother being hurt.

"What _happened?"_ He demanded of Farkas, looking at the angry scars on his brother's hands, one far worse than the other. "This... don't _tell_ me... this looks like-"

"Sliver." Farkas confirmed with a wince. "Please, keep it down... my head..."

" _Skjor used silver on you?"_

Aela couldn't believe it. She had trouble believing everything else Skjor had done, but _this_ topped everything else.

" _ **Skjor did this?"**_

Vilkas's voice was almost a snarl for the way it was thrown back into his throat. He looked from Farkas to Di'kana.

"You knew?"

Di'kana nodded, slowly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Brother, easy..." Farkas reached for Vilkas, grasping his brother by the arm to get his attention. "Skjor forbade _me_ from telling anyone. Don't get mad at her."

Vilkas still growled, much as Farkas had growled the night before. He was agitated, upset, wanting to strike back. Aela could reflect on the feeling as well, from this morning, the desperation to take retribution for a friend.

Di'kana moved in, to take the center of the group and attract attention to herself.

"Please, this is ending."

"Like hell it is. I'll rip Skjor's throat out with my teeth."

"Get in line." Farkas laughed softly, putting a hand to his chest. Apparently the jolting of his ribs hurt the wound he'd bandaged over his sternum.

"This one has first rights." Di'kana pointed out. "It is _my plan,_ after all."

For a moment, it appeared to be a stand-off. Vilkas and Di'kana met eyes, staring each-other down.

Like Aela, he simply could not compete with the power of her gaze. There was a ferocity there that not even the wolf wanted to challenge.

"... very well."

"Good." Di'kana accepted his capitulation with a nod, allowing herself to have a seat next to Farkas on his bedside, reaching for some of the food that had been brought with them to remind the others of their purpose for coming down here. "Now then... this one believes we all have some catching up to do."


	9. Becoming The Wolf

**Author's Notes:**

This chapter is a tad on the short side, but I didn't want to push it longer when it felt right to end it where I did. Enjoy!

 **I don't own Skyrim.**

* * *

 **Mixing Beastblood  
** **Chapter Nine – Becoming the Wolf**

The Underforge was a place that reeked of rite and ritual, of a sort of magic that was not within the hands of mere mortal men, but rather something so primal that nothing so far removed from nature could possibly hope to control it. Di'kana knew it, the moment Skjor led her through the secret door hidden within the sheer stone face below the Skyforge, that there was something _special_ about this place that was beyond whatever words might have been used to describe it. Cold stone walls, likely hewed out an era before, flowed from a narrow passage into a wide room. The smell of candle wax and wisps of smoke flavored the air as the young Khajiit girl found herself entering into a place where power pulsed through with the beat of her heart.

Something in her reacted to this place. Something in her felt excited and _alive._

Skjor had met her only moments ago, where she'd been waiting out in the yard. He'd taken her presence as a sign of eagerness, bidding she follow him with only a few words and a wave of his hand that delighted in her obedience to his whim. Even if it didn't show on his face, the fact that she was _here,_ doing this, had him incredibly pleased.

Following behind him, she had to fight the temptation to bare him to the ground and rend him. Tension in her hands made her fingers feel thick and stiff as she fought the desire to curl them into a ready position for attack. It was an active battle within herself not to let her ears lay flat and express the utter _hate_ that could not be mollified by any amount of justification. _Not yet,_ she had to remind herself. Remind herself that her claws would do little against the plates of armor he wore, that _patience_ would bring her victory... she simply had to wait for him to give her the means of his demise.

As the dark stone passage from the outside ended, the room opened wider into a place that vibrated with indescribable energy. Cold though the stone floor was, it also seemed to feed an odd sort of heat within Di'kana. It was something that seemed to draw up through her feet, lace up through her limbs and up her spine, making her stand taller as blue eyes glanced about the dimly lit space. The walls morphed into what looked like basins, but they had more importance than that. _Alters,_ perchance, places where the ritual took place. There was a third, in the center, standing free of the wall and giving the place of greatest importance upon a pedestal, the stone carved into shapes around the rim that had lost their definition with time.

Behind this central alter, a hulking shape stood. A dark-furred beast that stood erect upon two legs, blazing yellow eyes watching Di'kana and Skjor as they entered, growling softly between heavy breaths that were only hardly restrained from snarling. Di'kana had seen a creature of the like before- Farkas had looked like that after he had transformed. Even then, however, it took her several moments to recognize she was seeing a werewolf. The last she'd seen one, he hadn't exactly been holding still for her to _stare_ upon. She'd seen a creature of dark fur and teeth and claws and blood, and this one? This one still still, restrained fury in a body that watched with unearthly fire in its eyes.

A sniff at the air revealed the identity of the wolf.

" _Aela."_ Di'kana gaped with wonder, stepping further in.

"I'm surprised you recognize her like this." Skjor smiled at Aela with what appeared to be... _pride._ Yes, Di'kana knew that look, but it wasn't like the proud smile Farkas had given her the night she'd been accepted into the Companions. No, there was something else in it... something that seemed to believe in _ownership._ The smile Skjor gave Aela was _possessive_.

"This one smells her scent. It is the same."

"I see..." Skjor nodded slightly, thoughtfully, before going on to explain what was happening here. "We do this in secret because Kodlak is too busy trying to throw away this great gift we've been granted. He thinks we've been _cursed,_ but we've been blessed. How could something that gives this kind of prowess be a curse? So, we take matters into our own hands. To reach the heights of the Companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf... are you prepared to do so, kit?"

 _Are you prepared-_ what a _stupid_ question. After all his manipulations of those around her, he _dare_ ask if she was prepared? The whole point of everything he'd done was to ensure that she _wasn't_ prepared. That she was forced into this decision prematurely, before she had time to think about it and decide differently. Something in him was _so desperate_ to have this go his way, and she was little more than a pawn in his design, and she _knew it._

Instead of growl, she smiled. An opening of her lips showed Khajiit teeth- so much _sharper_ than the races of men. Their blunt molars were pitiful when compared to the sharp incisors and gripping fangs within her maw.

If Skjor knew her race better, he'd know that such a smile with teeth was not pleasure, but a _threat._

"This one is ready."

Skjor nodded, somewhat solemn now when he approached Aela. From his belt, a blade was drawn, reaching his other hand to take hold of one of Aela's massive paws- or was it a hand? It reminded Di'kana of her own hands, fuzzy and clawed, but the way the digits naturally curved, the way the talons dominated the grip, it appeared more like an animal's paw that just happened to be capable of grasping. All the same, Aela let him touch her, let him bring the appendage over the stone alter and its wide basin, and slash the blade across her palm to open the flow of blood.

It ran freely, more than Di'kana expected. Quickly, a pool was formed in the bowl, and Aela hardly seemed disturbed for the amount that gushed forth from her skin. Then, just as quickly as Skjor had opened her flesh, the flow of red vitality stemmed itself and dribbled to a stop.

"The beast blesses us with an ability to heal faster from little things." Skjor explained as Di'kana stepped closer to eye Aela's would-be wound with some wonder in her eyes. "Lest the blade is _silver-_ then it festers for far longer than it should. Its our bane, and you'll do well to avoid it, kit. _Now,"_ Skjor gestured to the basin, to the gathering of wolf blood that had been poured out for her. "Drink, sister, and join in the blood as we have."

There was a natural _aversion_ when she was invited to drink Aela's blood, something that made her ears falter into their true enraged stance, flattening to her head for a moment before she got a hold of herself. There was a point, she supposed, when colorful metaphor had to give way to the more literal truth; that being that it was, indeed, the blood _itself_ that carried and passed the gift.

She'd asked for this, and she stepped up to the alter. Both hands took to the rim of the stone bowl, her body bending low to bring her head down to the pool of dark red. She fought the reflex to sniff it first, instead closing her eyes not to consider what she was about to imbibe and simply beginning to lap at the pool like a wildcat.

The fact that it was still warm made a slight shudder pass through her. The taste was metallic and gamy, like poorly seasoned venison, but still she swallowed that which was within her mouth. With Skjor watching and Aela looming over her, she drank of the blood.

All the heat that had seemed to weave up through her limbs, all the warmth that had worked its way up through muscle and bone, seemed to suddenly _burn-_ like grand claws that dug into her where she'd felt nothing but a more gentle brush before. It ripped her away from the alter, stumbling back and crying out as, at first, the blood she'd swallowed felt like _poison_ running through her. Throat and stomach clenched, and she retched. Once, twice, dry heaves as her hands flew to save her from a collision with the stone floor, tail arching up and bristling as her head dipped low, claws scrabbling for some kind of grip as she fought the feeling of sickness in a desire to stand up again.

She couldn't. Something was happening, something was _growing_ within her that wasn't there before. Her head twisted one way, then another, feeling both strength and agony flood through her. It was a mixture that brought her to cry out louder, the rough rebellion of her stomach left behind for a squalling yowl that echoed through the ritual chamber.

She felt claws dragging up her spine. In their wake, it felt like blood flowing freely from the rent they might have opened in her skin. Hot tears of her body while the skin she knew so well might as well have peeled away. From it, something was emerging. From her pitiful little form, something else was taking over.

She could feel it now. Wild and desperate for freedom, it was inside her, roaring for freedom, _screaming to get out._

In her moment of realization, she forced her head up. In the split second that her vision began to cloud and she felt as if she might be lost before this new and wild creature, she made herself focus upon her objective.

She looked at Skjor, letting loose a roar that would make the mountains tremble.

* * *

Watching a sibling change for the first time was something Aela had born witness to before; she'd been there when Farkas took the blood, and seen the violence and pain that preceded the first transformation. Like the pains of labor, the rebirth of one with the new beastblood was an indescribable agony and not for the faint of heart. However, she would note that Di'kana's change was... _different._

The cat was becoming like them, and yet, certain parts seemed ever so slightly different as her new form began to take. Like Skjor's dead eye never left him, and while every wolf bore the scars of their host, she too had traits that carried over into her new shape. Claws that were thicker and curved like sickles, a longer, more feline tail that bushed out behind the muscular wolf body, a thicker coat of fur that lacked the usual bald spots when the furless members of men and mer became the wolf; simple things that made her no less formidable as her clothes shred for the size of her new body and her limbs organized themselves beneath her to let her rise up off of the floor.

She still _howled_ like a wolf. If not for the thick stone walls around them, all of Whiterun might have heard it. Upon seeing a sister wolf, Aela's own urge to run rose up. She dropped to all fours, padding around the alter and ready for her newly changed sister to pick a direction and _bolt._ New bloods always did- their first night mindless and bloody. Aela's job would be to ensure she escaped _out_ of Whiterun, through a secret passage in the Underforge, not into the city where carnage would occur with vicious abandon.

Oh, a direction _was_ chosen, but it wasn't for running.

The movement was sudden, a dark streak of near instantaneous speed that brought the black-furred she wolf to the only other living creature in the Underforge. Teeth snapped and claws ripped at armor plates, a breastplate being suddenly tossed aside as a surprised yell came from Skjor.

All at once, Di'kana's plan became clear.

Skjor had intended to use the rage of the new wolf to fight the Silver Hand.

She planned to use it to fight _him-_ where everyone feared him, feared to defy him or fight him, she'd picked a moment in which Skjor thought himself victorious. The moment where she accepted his plot for her to be his willing pawn, and instead turned upon him when he expected it the least.

"Aela, _get her off of me!"_

She hesitated. Skjor's guttural order was marked by a rage that heralded his own change. He was transforming to fight back, defend himself from the new wolf. He needed _time_ for his body to undergo the pain that came with it, precious seconds in which Di'kana would likely rip his throat out, kill him before he finished.

" _Aela!"_

It was _reflex_ to obey him.

With a leap, she dove at her sister and knocked her off of Skjor, the pair of them tumbling in a heap of muscle and rage. Aela righted herself as quickly as she could, trying to get atop Di'kana, trying to stall her for a few moment. Out of her sight, she heard the sickening crunches of Skjor's bones re-arranging, the growling and snarling as he became something far more vicious than his human self.

In seconds, she heard him dashing off for the passage that would lead outside Whiterun's walls.

Di'kana's body twisted, kicking Aela away with a powerful strike from a rear paw. A look into her newly yellowed eyes said everything there was to be said- the kitten wasn't in there right now. There was nothing but the _rage,_ and it sniffed at Skjor's blood on the stone floor before taking off at horrific speed to follow.

As her human self, Aela might have hesitated in pursuit. She might have questioned her guilt over defending Skjor, or the equal guilt of having even considered letting him die- the conflict within her would have choked out her desire for the hunt.

The wolf had no such struggle within itself. There was a smell of the wild world, a whiff of the area beyond Whiterun's walls that signaled the passage was open. That was all she needed, all that was required to forget the last few moments and take off into the night.

Nothing could dim the wolf's joy of _freedom,_ running beneath the moons and bathing in the sparkling light they brought.


	10. The Death of a Beast

**The Author's Corner:**

It's been seven months. I have no excuse. Here's the last chapter of this part. I'll try not to take so long with the next part. Keep an eye out for it, _Rise of the Harbinger!_

* * *

 **Mixing Beastblood  
** **Chapter Ten - The Death of a Beast**

Di'kana's memories were scattered things after she'd pounced upon Skjor. Things lost to the horrific agony of crunching bones and engorging muscles, her recollection was fuzzy at best, remembering snippets of individual senses. The sight of the stone tunnel that led out of Whiterun, the sharp copper taste of blood in her maw, the incredible _smell_ of the mountain air through her new nose, the feeling of her pounding heart as she ran beneath the moon, the sound of _howling_ with her fellow wolves as they streaked across the wilderness towards a destination of some kind. It painted a scene, frantic and liberating all at the same time. She'd felt so _out of control,_ and yet, so _elated_ for being so. Any part of her that might have been afraid, might have expressed terror at not being able to inhibit herself in the urge to kick off the ground and tare into the turf in a long and powerful gait, was lost beneath the bliss of the earth between her claws and the rush of wind in her face.

She remembered not being alone. Aela had been just behind her, nipping at her heels, and Skjor had been before her, leading her in her blind rage to _rip him to pieces._

How _strange_ it had felt to be so incredibly overjoyed and yet so very full of loathing, all at the same time. Was she to laugh or scream?

Neither, it seemed. She knew she'd _roared_ through her new snout, a monstrous sound to go with monstrous teeth... and one that left her throat raw.

And _that_ was when she realized it. When she realized she was _no longer_ that creature, she was swallowing, feeling her neck, sitting among grasses with cold dew that clung to each blade. She was _naked,_ seated upon the chilled earth, licking the inside of her mouth as if something were stuck to the roof of it while the very back of her tongue felt as if it were torn open and bleeding. Her fur fluffed up, arms shifting to hold herself and protect from the cold, blinking blearily and trying to get her bearings.

Wherever she was, it was far from Whiterun. Somewhere on a slope, mountain peaks looming and trees standing in the few places they could root at this incline. In the distance, she could _hear_ something- startled noises and clattering of weapons. Far from here, a battle was happening, voices crying out either in eagerness to engage or in fear of death.

Sniffing made her realize she still was not alone. Skjor's trail continued on, and Aela was near-by. Her scent nearly blended with the wilds around them, but there was also a certain _nuttiness_ to it, like roasted hazelnuts- delightful and warm... much like the woman herself, if one earned it. Her mouth opened briefly, to call out, but a thick wheeze escaped her instead- her tongue had forgotten how to form words, and the dryness of her mouth did not assist at all with her desire to find her shield sister. Coughing, swallowing, shaking her head, she tried to settle back into her skin... but again, her fur ruffled and a shudder passed through her. This was more than cold, more than Skyrim's customary chill penetrating through thin Khajiit fur and skin. The cold was in her core, a freezing terror of exhaustion that sat heavy in her gut. It was a feeling that made her feel like she'd somehow swallowed a massive chunk of ice, and it made her belly roil in discomfort. Beyond that, she felt as if her body did not _fit,_ like clothes stitched too tight. Shivering, she could not stretch, and the irritation of it all made her growl.

"Ah, _there_ you are... I was worried you were not going to come back."

Her head turned, and ears perked up. Di'kana's wide blue eyes addressed Aela in the darkness- _human_ Aela. Not the wolf, not the hulking creature Skjor had cut to give Di'kana the blood, but the red-headed huntress who wore her unique leathers with pride and spoke softly in the night. Within her arms, a leather bundle was carried- _clothes and armor_ Di'kana realized as Aela bent to lay it on the ground and open it. Eagerly, Di'kana's hands fell upon the contents to begin dressing herself against the chill wind that blew up the mountain slope.

" _Skjor?"_

Finally, Di'kana managed to speak- a single word that still carried the _hate_ that had driven her actions since her return to Jorrvaskr.

"You hurt him. Badly." Aela noted. "... was that your plan? … did... did you mean to kill him?"

"Did you _not?"_ Di'kana spat, rough tunic slipped over her body, trousers pulled up her legs, a layer of leather applied before metal pieces of armor could be added atop that. Piece by piece, she was becoming a warrior again. "He hurt Farkas, this one hurt _him._ You, too, vowed revenge if this one remembers. Has that desire _ebbed?"_

"No, but..." Aela paused. She remembered the feeling, how she'd raged when she saw what Skjor had done to Farkas, but when it came to Skjor _dying-_ something in her core refused, and hesitated. There was a _fear_ associated with the idea of trying to unseat him, though she could not possibly describe how it held itself so deeply within her that it could make her question what the correct course of action was in this moment. Skjor had used silver upon one of their own, badly hurt Farkas, threatened and manipulated multiple members of the companions; he _deserved_ death... and yet, she could only comprehend terror at the idea of carrying it out, or the thought of Di'kana trying to do so. He'd been part of Aela's life for so long, the thought of him being gone, despite all that he'd done, was almost more terrifying than his machinations. "... I don't know if this is my hunt, Kitten. Skjor should be punished, but the Silver Hand have taken from us too- and Kodlack has no plans to fight them. I... I don't know if I can _let_ you kill him."

"Do you make no plans? Does Skjor lack replacement from within our ranks? Kodlack is _old,_ and prepares for his own end- new leadership is eminent, and it need not come with such _abuse."_

Vicious words, but no less true. Aela still found herself hesitant.

"Did he... continue on?" Di'kana asked, strapping on her breastplate, assembling herself methodically despite the way she continued to shiver- even when covered.

"Yes. He's begun the attack without us- Skjor has never been particularly _patient,_ and the wolf is less so."

"Then the goals are met. He is wounded, yet he wages war. If he is to die now, it is of his own doing."

" _What?"_ Aela snapped, losing hesitation and turning to anger. Her body tensed, and fists clenched as Di'kana regained her feet, addressing her legs and boots with the last pieces of armor that Aela had carried in the bundle. "You'd- You'd leave him to be killed by these _butchers?"_

"Dead is dead, and he entered of his own will." Di'kana responded coolly, ears swept back, a faint growl clinging upon her words. "You would suffer Farkas to let him return to Jorrvaskr? If he does not die here, you know Vilkas will finish him for his brother's protection and honor. Kodlak likely knows now as well. If not death, Skjor will be exiled in disgrace- a disgrace he will not take kindly, if this one has come to understand him at all."

"Yes, but Vilkas would at least engage him in a duel, kill him with honor! Put him down properly, as a warrior, as a hunter! I'm angry too, but Skjor doesn't deserve death _here."_

There was a plea in Aela's passionate and enraged voice- a request from her heart that was as desperate as Di'kana's heart was hateful.

"... you desire this one help you rescue him from himself? Knowing full well he will die upon Vilkas's sword even if we _do_ save him here?"

"Vilkas has honor. These people do not." Aela insisted, nodding eagerly. "Please, sister- I have gone along with your plan, now please assist me with mine. The Silver Hand have a fort just up this slope; we will slaughter them. _All of them._ Give them your hate, and save the last scraps of Skjor for Vilkas."

It felt like a delay of the inevitable, as well as a subversion of what she'd set out to do... but Aela's plea did not fall upon deaf ears. Finally suited up, Di'kana stood straight and lifted the final piece of armor, a helm, to the top of her head. With it on, she could at least mildly ignore the tired and cold core of her body... though she was certain it was slowly warming- as if the exhaustion of her beast were waning. Perchance the cold was her inability to change after returning to herself... she could ask about it another time. In this moment, there were other things to be concerned with.

"... I will need a weapon." Di'kana noted, without enthusiasm. There had not been one in the bundle.

Relief flooded Aela, and made her hands unclench. "I am certain we can _liberate_ one easily enough."

* * *

Entry into the fort left Di'kana reluctantly agreeing with Aela's sentiment; _no one deserved to die here._ The first thing to make her recoil were the spikes arranged at the entry- decorated with the heads of werewolves, driven through and left to rot, maggots squirming in the eyes. Entrance in brought relief from the cold, but only a greater smell of fear, carrion, and cruelty. Drawing further in, down stone steps and past a protective gate, there were a number of dead- both members of the Silver Hand, mauled and bloody, and their victims. In rooms meant for butchery, little corrals off of a main meeting room with food and fire, the dead bodies of werewolves hung by their throats. Hooks were driven through them from beneath the jaw, and they were strung up to be gutted. The long lines of a skinning knife suggested that the fur was to be harvested. These corpses, however, were not alone. The meeting room had at least a dozen dead men within it, ripped by talon and teeth... and more than one of them wore the pelts of their victims. Without a doubt, Skjor had been there; the freshly dead were proof.

Di'kana wished death upon Skjor, but not the death of a beast. He was still a man in her eyes- depraved and cruel, but still a man. That decided, it gave Di'kana a horrible feeling when, only a few rooms into the fort, she and Aela began to meet resistance. Mauled corpses no longer appeared, but living guards who stood watch with the fear and caution that accompanied a recently survived attack. Skjor was nowhere to be seen, but both she and Aela could _smell_ that he'd been there... and that he'd bled.

Quiet hand motions indicated a plan of attack; Di'kana would drive the assault, while Aela took her bow to the shadows and ensured the incoming force would not overwhelm her shield sister. The setting of the battle was carefully chosen; the place where they would announce themselves to the men within the stone fortress. There were hallways, narrow, too narrow to pass more than two abreast, throughout the underground sprawl that they'd found themselves in. These hallways met at junctions that were mildly wider. With sniffs at the air, Aela quickly worked out where their greatest opposition was, and stole ahead on silent steps. Once assured that she was in position, Di'kana let out a challenging cry that quickly gained attention- but with the bottleneck, her enemies could not face her more than one at a time if they still wanted to swing their swords. Meanwhile she, in the junction, had the room to swing a stolen silver ax down upon them... all as Aela picked off others with her bow.

Between the pair of them, the fight did not last long, neither of them ever once bitten by the silver blades their enemies wielded.

 _Speed_ was key, a sense of fearful _haste_ taking over both women as they shared a knowing look. Beyond this force, Skjor may have been taken captive... or he could very well already be dead.

" _Hurry."_ Aela urged.

She need not say it. Continuing on past the dead force led to a room that was most certainly a true mess hall; tables laden with food and drink, as well as a wooden bar from which a barkeep had no doubt watched over the men and women they'd just slain. The room was empty, now, the sole sign of life being a massive fire that burned in a built-out corner hearth. It crackled on, heedless that its tenders were gone and that it, too, would soon be left as a lifeless pile of ash and dust. Di'kana considered that this whole place could be brought down by feeding kegs of spirit into the flame and letting the fire rise to rage- but doing so would ensure _all_ who remained would be consumed, Skjor included. Aela would not accept that. They would march on, and face what was beyond; another long hall, this time leading to what was clearly the prison of the fortress. Cell after cell, cold and damp, with a single guard left at the far end of the room to watch over the block. Said guard looked unsure of his post, peering into the gloom of the darkened prison. Doubtless he'd heard the commotion from the mess hall, but had maintained his post here- one of his peering eyes was where Aela's arrow find its mark. The shaft appeared silently from the dark, and the man was dead before he could cry out in surprise, slumping in his chair.

The way clear, they moved to cross the prison block. Di'kana leading with her ax, she peered into the darkened cells when she heard guttural growling- to realize there were other werewolves here. _Living_ werewolves, locked into tiny cells in which there was barely room to piss, lest one wished to sit in it. She stopped, abruptly, staring at a creature that stared back at her... but while it's eyes burned, she saw no intelligence in it.

"Feral." Aela noted. "... see how it stares at you? These ones don't remember what it is they were before. If you were to free one, it would happily kill you."

"Would you leave it trapped, knowing that you could occupy such a small cage?" Di'kana quested quietly, staring at the animal before her. When Khajiit mothers told frightening stories to kittens, they always included cages. The idea of _captivity_ was one that horrified all of her people to the bone, a fundamental fear that went back into the very essence of her cultural memory. To see another, even robbed of rational thought, kept so captive... it made her feel _sick._

"Di'kana, we don't have _time_ to try and free them. They might kill us, and Skjor-"

"Not free them." Di'kana responded stiffly. "... we have time for _mercy,_ do we not?"

It took a moment, but Aela realized what was being suggested. She did not waver; it was the same mercy she'd give to a bear with its leg caught in a trap. To release it was to promise a slow, painful death as it failed to survive. Similar could be said of these ferals, left trapped in their beastly form- there was no place in the world meant for them. Running free, the Companions themselves would have the unhappy task of putting them down before they killed innocents in their insatiable blood-lust.

"... very well."

The task was a short one. Aela's draw was strong, and each arrow struck between the bars of each cell, into each wolf, right between the eyes. To each, Aela spoke a quiet well-wish; that they might meet again for the eternal hunt.

Di'kana, behind her, wished them peace and freedom.

From the prison block, the journey was short. Another hall, a sleeping guard who was given no chance to wake, a sharp turn and a final door. Beyond, the reek of blood and butchery- Aela lifted a hand and called for them to hold a moment.

"The master of this fort is known as the _Skinner._ I assume you can understand why?"

Di'kana nodded. She'd seen and smelled more than enough to comprehend the cruelty that occurred here, and why Aela didn't want Skjor to die here... yet, dread grew in her, as she was certain the worst had already occurred. Beyond the door, she heard the steady beat of a smith's hammer. She heard no shouting, no commotion, nothing that suggested a prisoner was being kept who had any fight left in them. If Skjor was beyond this door, he was either dead or unconscious. Considering how the Silver Hand treated werewolves, she doubted they'd take the chance in _not_ killing him right away... they certainly had not intended to take Farkas alive, the time she and he had encountered them during her proving, all those weeks ago.

Inside her, the cold had long been driven off. White-hot anger had turned her restless, and pricked at her skin in a way that made her feel as if her body might burst open the way an old shirt would at the seams. This heat, this rage- she could guess what it was. It was the _wolf,_ inside her now, with a will of its own... and its will was to _hunt._ To tare and destroy for the offense given to the pack. Despite the beast being self-willed, its rage felt too familiar; she knew this irrational need from her own anger, her own times of irrational action.

She knew, much like her own rage, that such anger could not be _tamed..._ only re-directed.

"Let us do this." She told Aela.

A short nod was shared, and Di'kana stood up. A heavy boot crashed against the door, and the pair of shield sisters rushed in to meet whatever was beyond.

 _ **~Fin Part Two**_


End file.
